The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy)

by Foster, Michael

  ‘Why is Cook not a magician?’ Samuel asked Master Took, who promptly burst out laughing.

  ‘Women cannot use magic, Samuel,’ he replied.

  ‘It’s not their nature,’ Master Gunthem added.

  ‘Why is she here?’ Samuel asked.

  ‘We have studies and duties to attend to, young Samuel,’ Master Copperpot answered. They were all crowding enthusiastically around him. ‘None of us has the time to prepare food all day. She is the niece of a mage and so we have no need to hide our true nature from her; though of course she doesn’t know our innermost secrets.’

  ‘What secrets?’ Samuel asked.

  ‘Ah, that would be telling,’ Copperpot returned mysteriously. ‘You will learn everything in good time at the place where you are going. Have patience. All good things come to those who wait.’

  ‘Why do magicians have to be so secret?’ Samuel asked.

  ‘We are the very bastions of the Empire,’ Copperpot explained, ‘Although we do not display ourselves openly and do not have direct contact with the people like the Emperor’s armies, we are still a symbol of the Empire’s might.’

  ‘The very Empire that conquered these lands,’ Master Gunthem put in.

  ‘Yes,’ Copperpot continued. ‘In Turia, we openly walk the streets, but here, far from the centre of civilisation, it is not wise for us to advertise our presence. In fact, worse than the fact we represent the Empire, is the fact that we represent magic itself. Magicians have been regarded very poorly in the past. In some regions, we would be in mortal danger if we revealed ourselves. We rarely go to such places, except when absolutely necessary and, even then, we must travel in disguise. The Emperor has been trying to change the old superstitions, but progress is slow and people do not change their ideas easily. We are only here to help people, but sometimes it can be very difficult to make them understand that.’

  Samuel nodded. It seemed very complicated.

  ‘Tell us, Samuel. How did you start to use magic?’ Master Gunthem questioned.

  ‘Yes. Show us what you can do?’ Master Took asked once more and Mr Copperpot raised an intervening finger.

  Master Kelvin’s calling brought a sigh of relief and Samuel hurried back to the inn, with the magicians all trailing behind and bickering with each other.

  Kans brought the single-horsed wagon to the front and, with his few belongings and his purse carefully packed, Samuel received a firm handshake from Master Kelvin and each of the guests. It was strange to have men, who had barely granted Samuel more than a few words, now gripping his hand and shaking it like dear friends with beaming smiles.

  Samuel finally hopped up beside Master Goodwin and they began away, passing through the gates past a grumpy, dirty-faced, Kans. As the wagon passed through, Samuel shouted his goodbyes and Kans’ face showed the slightest hint of a smile, as he promptly shut the gates behind them.

  Just then, Samuel remembered Jessicah and Mr Joshua. In all the excitement, he had forgotten them entirely.

  ‘I’ll meet you at the bridge!’ Samuel blurted out to Master Goodwin and jumped down from the wagon before the man could utter any form of response. He was away and zigzagging his way through the town streets in a heartbeat.

  He was panting and breathless by the time he came to the doors of the Three Toads Inn. A patron was just coming out, and Samuel spied Jessicah standing idly inside beside her father. He carefully eased the door open a crack and waited for his uncle to disappear into a back room, before darting in and dragging Jessicah out by the hand.

  ‘Samuel!’ she said. ‘It’s so good to see you!’

  ‘Yes, you too!’ he returned. ‘But I must go. I am going to Cintar to be a magician.’ She giggled at this. ‘Really!’ he reiterated. ‘I’m leaving now and I don’t know when I will be back.’

  ‘Oh, Samuel. That’s terrible!’

  ‘Don’t worry!’ he said confidently. ‘I’m sure I can come back soon and see you. I promise.’

  ‘Oh, Samuel,’ she said again and kissed him quickly on the cheek.

  ‘But I must go!’ he exclaimed. ‘Master Goodwin is waiting for me, and I must go see Mr Joshua and get my money!’

  ‘Goodbye, Samuel! I will miss you!’

  ‘Me, too! Goodbye, Jessicah!’ And with that Samuel was off again.

  ‘Hey, Samuel!’ called a familiar voice, as Samuel was crossing the market square. Samuel stopped and Fat Martin, a street boy Samuel knew well, came scampering up to him. ‘If you’re on your way to see Mr Joshua, I’d think twice!’

  ‘Why is that?’ Samuel asked.

  ‘Some trouble. The city guard are there.’

  Samuel became worried. ‘I’ll be careful.’ And he sped off again.

  On nearing Mr Joshua’s office, Samuel slowed to a walk and carefully peered down the narrow street. Two guards were waiting arms-folded by the entrance. Samuel was sure more were inside, but he could not guess as to what they were doing—nothing serious, he hoped. He was eager to get the savings that Mr Joshua had been keeping for him, but the guards left him no choice. He waited a painfully long time, but the guards barely moved a muscle the whole time. Samuel was forced to turn about and jog away to meet Master Goodwin. His money would have to wait until he returned to Stable Canthem. He had a little from his work at the Burning Oak, and Master Kelvin had said the school in Cintar would provide him with everything, but he still wanted his money. Mr Joshua had been a good employer and friend, so hopefully he would not be too angry at Samuel’s sudden departure and would keep the money for when he could return.

  Master Goodwin was waiting patiently at the north bridge, which crossed the Mentine River. He did not ask a word when Samuel jumped up beside him and they set off at once. Samuel thought he should feel saddened that he could not say goodbye to Mr Joshua, but he was filled with such excitement at this new adventure.

  At first, Samuel was excited with crossing new lands, but he soon discovered that one part of the highway was much the same as any other—dusty and featureless. It reminded him of his journey from Stable Waterford long ago; however, this time he was not fleeing from an abominable past, but headed for an exciting future. When he was a magician, he would surely learn to fly through the air and battle great dragons that rose hissing from the sea. The children in Stable Canthem had always talked of magic and the incredible things that magicians did. How exciting to think that, soon, he would be one of them. Then again, the guests at the Burning Oak were all magicians, and they were mostly grumpy old men. Samuel would be an adventurous magician, he was sure—not at all like them.

  Master Goodwin told Samuel to call him Tulan, and it soon became evident that once Samuel got to know him, he was far friendlier and much more genuine than all the other magicians had been—except for Lomar, of course.

  ‘So, are all magicians called Master?’ Samuel asked.

  ‘Most are,’ Tulan answered with some amusement at the question. ‘It’s a title that the Magicians’ Council created many years ago to make us all feel better than the common folk. You start as an apprentice magician and become an Adept when you are almost ready. After a few years’ experience, you graduate and become a Master Magician. The titles are often changing and are not really important as far as I’m concerned. The Magicians’ Council is always fiddling and changing things without too particular a reason.’

  ‘So that’s not what they are supposed to do?’

  Tulan snorted. ‘Not really, no. Politics, Samuel. Everything has politics—even magic. Once, I thought that magicians only did positive and wonderful things, but it turns out that we are governed by rules and bureaucracy as much as anyone—more so. There are too many greedy sods in the Order trying to squirm into positions of power. The Council is ever full of arguments and bickering. I couldn’t believe it at first, but that’s just the way of things. I try to ignore it as best I can. Sometimes, I’ve even considered leaving the Order altogether, but we can’t let such things get us down, can we?’ And he gave Samuel his mos
t optimistic smile.

  Samuel nodded. He had heard his father say similar things about the village leaders. People always seemed to complicate even the simplest of matters, having meetings and discussions and all sorts of arguments when none were really needed. Then something occurred to him. ‘What would you do if you left the Order?’

  Tulan looked at him with genuine amusement. ‘There are some other groups I could join.’ He began to rattle off their names: ‘The Union of Modern Magicians, Rammel’s Spellcasters, The Magician’s Alliance...a few more. But they are really only token organisations and most only have a handful of members. The Order has the backing of the Emperor and is, therefore, the only one real association of magicians. The others are allowed to exist merely for the sake of appearances—places to put troublesome magicians where the Order can keep an eye on them and they can do little damage. No, the Order has its fair share of troubles and worries, but it is really the only way for a magician to exist in the Empire.’

  Samuel nodded in understanding. ‘I didn’t know it was so difficult.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Samuel,’ Tulan said with a smile. ‘I should not worry you with such things at such a young age. My experiences have made me cynical, but you have your whole life in front of you. It seems you have a decent talent. I’m sure you will do your parents very proud.’ At that, Samuel’s face fell and, after a few moments, Tulan noticed his silence. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked the boy with concern.

  ‘My parents were killed.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Samuel. I didn’t know. The world is a cruel and heartless place, despite its brief golden moments. I see now that you have discovered this already.’

  Samuel nodded silently, then settled back into his seat and let the dusty countryside slowly rattle by.

  After only a few more days, Tulan announced they were within the borders of Turia itself, seat of the Turian Empire and home to the Order of Magicians. The School of Magicians was located all the way in Cintar, the great capital, which would take them another two weeks to reach. Samuel could not believe it. He thought it could perhaps be a few more days, but another two weeks? How could the land be so large? Master Kelvin had shown him maps of western Amandia, but the scale had never really occurred to him until now.

  ‘This is the slow way to travel, of course,’ Tulan informed him, gesturing to the wagon beneath them. ‘We could be a good way there by now if we were riding. They will probably teach you to ride in Cintar at some stage. It makes civilisation seem much more civilised when the towns with comfortable beds are not so far apart.’ Samuel nodded. ‘But I still enjoy taking my time occasionally—it reminds me of my childhood,’ Tulan added after a few moments silence. He had been scouring the open land with his blue clear eyes, watching the wind bend the reeds that sprouted tall along the roadside canals. ‘And it gives you time to think about things.’

  They stayed at inns and occasionally at a magician’s guesthouse, similar to the Burning Oak. Tulan was obviously well travelled, as he knew these unmarked buildings from the others on sight. None had gardens as lovely as the Burning Oak, but all were lavish and splendid and they were afforded every comfort without any requirement to pay. Tulan wore his black trousers and dark, buttoned shirt as they travelled and the further they went, the more people seemed to recognise him for what he was, calling him Lord or Master and bowing before him.

  ‘I hate all this business,’ Tulan told Samuel. ‘They think we are nobles or saints of some kind. We’re no more worthy of their praise then the next man. Sometimes, I curse these clothes of black,’ he said, tugging at his clothing. ‘It’s true we heal the odd gimpy leg or cure the occasional bunion as we pass, but the Empire can’t hope to undo what it has done so easily. Don’t be surprised if someone throws a dead goat on our laps and expects me to heal it for them. Although, this close to Cintar we shouldn’t be bothered.’

  ‘Could you heal a dead goat?’ Samuel asked, in all seriousness.

  Tulan laughed and shook his head. ‘Dead is dead, Samuel. Not even magic can cure that.’

  ‘Tell me more about magic,’ Samuel asked as the road led them through a series of wide, flat fields along a valley bottom. The hills all around had been tiered so as to be cultivated, making them all appear to be covered in great green steps. Samuel had long ago tired of looking at them and so instead he filled the time by launching another volley of questions towards his new friend. ‘Where does it come from and how does it work?’

  ‘Well, no one can say for sure,’ Tulan began, ‘but they tell me that magic is the underlying energy that comprises all things. If you know how, you can channel and make use of this energy, but it’s like everything; some of us have a natural talent and are better than others. My father sent me to be examined for talent when I was eight, not being able to support me himself. He was hoping I would prove useful with magic, and he was right. I manage to support him now he’s old and a little feeble.’

  ‘Can magicians marry then?’

  Tulan looked sideways to Samuel with a questioning glance. ‘Magicians don’t marry, Samuel. Perhaps it’s the lifestyle or the study or something inherent in the magic itself, but magic dulls the greater emotions. Magicians can’t hate and can’t love—not to the full extent of common folk anyway. Something happens to the mind and body so that magicians stop thinking about the fairer sex in that particular way. And even if a magician wanted to have children, he couldn’t. Magicians simply cannot.’

  ‘That sounds awful.’

  ‘I suppose it’s a fair trade for the skills it grants us. Don’t worry, lad. Once it happens to you, you won’t notice any difference. It comes on slowly, but if you’re naturally talented with magic as it seems, you probably aren’t capable of having children already—that’s just the way of it. It does simplify the business a great deal and without the bother of families to deal with, we can do our work and studies without such hindrances. Admittedly, it does result in a lot of fairly boring old men not getting particularly fired-up or interested in much of anything. I sometimes suppose a woman or two in the Order would help to spice things up and make it more amusing—but that’s just not possible.’

  Samuel mulled over the matter for a while until the solemn feeling left him. ‘Enough of that, then. Tell me more about magic!’ he asked.

  Tulan looked thoughtful a moment, then began. ‘You like asking the simple ones, don’t you?’ Tulan stated with a sarcastic smile that peeped out from beneath his curling moustache. ‘Magic is both a skill that we practise and an energy that we can harvest from within our deepest selves. Magicians simply hone that ability as well as can be. Magic has garnered such a mystic tone simply because commoners cannot comprehend the link between cause and effect. It is invisible to them. They see us twiddle our fingers and then something happens, but they don’t understand the mental and physical effort that is required for such feats.

  ‘People once thought that the space between objects was filled with a void, but we now know that air fills those gaps, or how else would we breathe? We can use that knowledge to better ourselves—constructing windmills and sails and all manner of things that can help us. So it is with magic. One day, I believe everyone will use magic in their homes as everyone now brandishes fire. It is only the difficult step from fear and ignorance to understanding that is required.

  ‘Everyone could probably do some small magic if they tried although, as you’ve found out, it can be dangerous to play with magic without proper guidance. That is my misgiving with the Empire, Samuel. The Order has been created not to propagate magic, but to contain it. Instead of throwing light across the world, we gather the brightest sparks and keep them hidden away under blankets of black. We are windmills of fire, Samuel, made to unburden the world with our brilliance, but greed and jealousy have mucked up our cogs. It is such a pity. If my magic had not hardened my heart, I would probably weep.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Samuel said.

  Tulan’s melancholy air fell away as he realised S
amuel had been hanging on his every word. ‘Oh, no! I am sorry for you, my dear Samuel. It is unjust to burden you with my own bitter concerns. The old should not throw such worries upon the young. Please, forget what I have said. The world is a playground of opportunity for the young such as you. If you become a strong and wise magician, perhaps you can help to change these things of which I have spoken.’

  ‘So can you tell who is a powerful magician and who is not? Master Kelvin said I didn’t look like a magician at all.’

  ‘The magic in things is tangible, Samuel. It gives off vibrations. Not ordinary vibrations like this wagon is currently supplying to us in generous proportions; more like creases in the fabric of space and time. The more magic something contains, the more it resonates and can be detected. It’s just like listening carefully for a soft noise. Although, you can even see and hear and taste and feel magic once you know how, it’s not with your ears or your eyes or your body, but more with your mind—or spirit. In your case, it’s a mystery. I’ve tried several times since we left and I can’t even feel a hint of power within you. You don’t feel like a magician. You don’t feel like anything. If I turned my back, I would scarcely even know you were there, which is very strange for a magician like me. But don’t worry. I’m sure it’s commonplace and the teachers will find a way to explain it all to you.’

  ‘And what can I do with magic once I learn how?’

  ‘Ah, now that depends. It depends on your ability and your strength and where your talents lie. Some magicians are stronger in some areas. I’m good with divination. I can find minerals and detect the weather, and tell what kind of magic is where. I mostly help the Empire find its precious metals to mine—to keep its coffers filled. I can also tell you that if we don’t make the next village in the next hour we’ll get wet.’