‘Suit yourself,’ Eric declared. ‘Samuel and I are going to enjoy ourselves, aren’t we?’
‘I’d say you’re more likely going to get wet,’ Goodfellow said.
‘The markets are well covered,’ Eric said, ‘although, admittedly, they do leak all over the place.’
‘We’ll see you later, then, Eric,’ Samuel told Goodfellow. The two Erics were often at odds over what was more important in life: work or recreation. Samuel suspected they would never come to an agreement, but he settled the matter in his own mind with something Master Kelvin had often said. Everything in moderation, except for moderation. You should have plenty of that.
As Samuel went to step out of the Great Hall, he eyed the rain with apprehension. It was nearly raining sideways now, for the wind had blown up almost to a gale. Samuel pulled his robes tighter and hurried out, throwing the warming spell onto himself as he went—for Master Jod was right; he had lots of practice to get done, so he may as well start now.
‘Eric! Wait!’ he called out through the rain and darted after his friend. At least this way, he could improve his spells and visit the city at the same time.
Samuel lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling beams. He had done little but sleep, wipe his nose and look at the ceiling for days now; all thanks to the cold he had caught from running around the city with Eric in the wet. His head ached as soon as he tried to read and his body was too stiff to move further than down the stairs to get something to eat. Even his appetite evaded him at the moment.
The others had been taken to the palace to put on a performance for the royal court and Samuel was fuming that he had missed out. He still had not managed to see inside the palace, whereas some of the others had even been twice. Eric had told Samuel that they would go together when he was feeling better, for he declared that it was quite simple to sneak in and look around. Samuel had decided to wait until his friend had tested his theory a few more times before he tried it for himself.
Samuel’s limbs began to tremble again and he slightly altered his warming spell to make himself a little more comfortable. These turns of hot and cold kept dogging him and no amount of spelling could keep them at bay for long. He could not remember ever feeling so ill. Master Glim had said he would probably be better by today, but he only felt worse. The droning in his head started up again and he realised he was wet with perspiration, so he altered the spell yet again.
Shivering, he soon fell back into nightmarish dreams, where ghostly white claws tugged at his sheets and threatened to pull him through the dark cracks in the floor and a man loomed in the doorway, laughing hysterically at Samuel’s misfortune.
It was still raining a few days later, but Samuel was feeling a little better. Goodfellow had brought him a concoction of herbs that his auntie had recommended, and they seemed to be doing the trick. Perhaps tomorrow he could return to class. He felt awful staying in bed all day and, with all the rain and having this bad cold, he felt in a terrible mood. He had tried studying, but he could not concentrate enough to read his notes and everything he did manage to read made little sense. When he was better, he would study twice as hard and practise magic all day long. He was tired of this school and tired of his classes and his teachers and his classmates. He wanted to hurry up and graduate and show everyone what a real magician could do. He would prove to the entire Order that he was the greatest magician Amandia had ever seen. He would train the teachers how to actually teach their pupils, instead of treating them like children and wasting their precious time every day. And, if anyone challenged him, he would show them the true extent of his power, for his magic would be beyond compare. Given a little more time, he would be able to defeat any of the teachers here, and even Grand Master Anthem, should he choose. Samuel smiled at that thought. He would prove to everyone that he was the most powerful magician there ever was. He closed his eyes and lay back in his bed. Opening himself to the ether, he filled himself with magic and let it course through and around his body, thrilling him. As he lay alone in the dormitory, he smiled to himself and envisaged all his fantasies of future conquest. He would show them all, he thought and, as his magic burned through him, he actually believed it was true.
Samuel’s mount galloped up the grassy hill, followed closely by Eric atop his tall, grey mare.
‘I didn’t think that anyone would be able to best me, Samuel, but you have become an extraordinary rider,’ Eric called.
The others, led by Master Glim on his black-speckled stallion, were still charging up the base of the slope. Samuel turned his animal around and waited for them to arrive. The city was laid out below against the great blue ocean. It was the first sunny day in weeks and Master Glim had declared that it was time for another lesson in riding; a perfect chance to get out of the city and appreciate the wonderful turn of weather.
Gulls could be seen wheeling above the docks and, as always, tiny specks of people and animals dotted the roads that scarred the fields all around the city. Northbank sat on the other side of the Bardlebrook, seeming to grow closer to Cintar every day as the small satellite city continued to prosper. A great new bridge was being built next to the old one to span the narrows, and the Adept were often being called to help in the construction, lifting the great stones into place with their spells.
Master Glim’s animal came over the rise and pulled to a halt beside Samuel.
‘You’ve improved, Samuel!’ Master Glim declared, sweat matting his hair.
Samuel sniffed. The air was still a bit chilly today, so he adjusted his spells to warm him a little. ‘It doesn’t take a genius to stay in a saddle,’ Samuel replied curtly. It always annoyed him when Master Glim treated him like a child.
Samuel caught a raised eyebrow passing from Eric to the teacher. They had been acting strangely, of late, whispering when they thought he could not hear them, but his magically enhanced senses easily caught their speech. They were always whispering about him.
His animal was not much to speak of, but Samuel, with a slight Lifting spell, had perfected the art of helping his horse so that it could gallop faster and tire slower. It meant he was always well in front of the others, and he knew it annoyed Eric, who had always raved on about how he was such a fine rider. At first, they may have been able to detect such a spell, but Samuel had mastered the art and now needed little power to accomplish such magic. It was but a trickle, barely noticeable above the natural murmur of the world and its ever-humming fields of power.
‘You look tired today, Samuel,’ Master Glim then said. ‘Are you sure that you’re feeling well today? Perhaps we should head back.’
Samuel threw the man as dark a look as he could muster. Why was he always questioning him and trying to make him feel ill at ease? At one time, Samuel would have thought Master Glim was above petty jealousy, but now the man was always trying to intimidate him and question his ability. He pitied such childish ignorance. ‘I’m fine,’ Samuel replied, looking further up the hillside.
Just then, all the other Adept arrived and came galloping to a halt beside them, horses stomping and steaming.
‘A brief rest,’ Master Glim called out. ‘Then to the edge of the woods and home.’
Samuel spurred his mount on, kicking it hard with his heels and whipping the reins for all the animal was worth and he was away from them in a moment. He had little patience to waste more time out here. He would make the woods and quickly be home to rest. He strengthened his spell to lighten his horse a little more, but as he did, the world lurched and Samuel’s heart seemed to shudder up into his throat. The ground loomed up impossibly and smashed him in the face, his vision flashing black, white, red and black again as he rolled over and over. When he finally came to a rest a little way down the slope, he could see his animal still galloping a short distance away. It was turning in a wide circle to find its rider. Then the sound of hurried boots came near and hands began turning him over.
‘Samuel!’ came a strange voice.
It took him a few moments
to realise it was Eric Pot speaking. He gathered his wits as hands tried to lift him. ‘Get off me!’ he demanded, wiping the spit and vomit from his face. ‘What is wrong with you people? Stop looking at me! Am I a cripple?’ He slapped the hands away and stood on shaky legs, scraping at the dirt and grass on his clothing.
Master Glim and the two Erics were beside him. The other Adept were all waiting on foot a short way hence, holding their reins and gawking at him.
‘What happened, Samuel?’ Goodfellow asked.
Samuel felt a little dizzy and adjusted his spells. He had found variations on the spells he had already learned, spells to ease the stiffness in his muscles, spells to ease the soreness in his bones, even spells to hold him steady when his head became light. He had needed them much, of late, ever since he had caught that stubborn cold.
‘Samuel, listen to me. What are you doing?’ Master Glim asked.
‘I’m going back to the city,’ Samuel replied, starting for his horse. His head itched and, rubbing at it, his hand revealed a trickle of blood. ‘I’m sick of all this playing around. I have work to do. Why do you waste our time like this?’
Master Glim followed him, jogging at his side. ‘What spell did you cast just a moment ago, Samuel? I felt you exert your power and then you adjusted the magic quite expertly until it was indiscernible. Are you trying to hide something?’
Samuel kept marching. ‘I’m tired,’ he replied. ‘Let me be.’
‘Samuel!’ Master Glim called after him. ‘I am trying to help you!’
‘Help me?’ Samuel shouted back, and he laughed at the absurdity of such an outrageous suggestion. His head hurt so much and his eyes watered in the bright light. It felt like another person was inside him, using his voice. He could not remember when this feeling had come upon him. These days he had become so numb.
He spun on his heels and stopped, looking back at his teacher. The two Erics were still standing where he had fallen, looking down at their boots. The other Adept were with their horses a short distance away, watching on with mouths wide. Samuel felt lost for a moment before remembering his line of thought. ‘Why are you all looking at me!’ he shouted, pointing an unsteady finger back towards them.
Master Glim slowly shook his head and spoke softly once more. ‘Samuel,’ he said. ‘How foolish of me not to have realised what you’ve been doing. Magic is strong, but mortal flesh was not made to withstand the rigours you have been calling upon yourself. I see now that your body is well beyond exhaustion and spells are all you have left. You hid it well, but your ruse is now unravelled. Don’t you realise your spells cannot last forever? When they fail, your body will break under the strain, as you have just experienced for yourself.’ He then called over his shoulder. ‘Goodfellow. Pot. Come here, quickly.’
Suddenly, Samuel’s spells all vanished as something severed his connection with the ether. All the pain, all the cold and the terrible fatigue surged in upon him and he cried out in agony. He staggered forwards and went to his knees. There was a spell emanating from Master Glim, surrounding Samuel and keeping him from reaching his magic. The pain was unbearable and his muscles would not support his weight. They felt like withered cords beneath his skin. Samuel tried one last desperate time to gather some power, to somehow blast them all to dust, when his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell limply onto the grass.
Eric Pot stepped over him, their voices still faintly audible in the back of Samuel’s mind. ‘Even in such a state, he is quite the magician. What do we do with him?’
‘Back to the school. Quickly! We don’t have much time. Someone go on ahead and gather the Masters,’ Master Glim responded.
The last thing he felt was many hands grasping hold of him.
Samuel walked a ghostly corridor. It was the hallway of the Burning Oak, yet now it was filled with mist that clung to his legs. A door to his side opened noiselessly and Samuel saw inside. Instead of a room, he could see the enormous form of his uncle shouting wordless, spit-filled insults at the huddled silhouette of a little girl. The compulsion to move carried him on and another door opened, revealing his family, sitting in their home as he remembered they once did. They were laughing silently and having a merry time, yet outside the window, Samuel could see the leering faces of men pressed up against the glass.
Other doors opened, but Samuel could not bear to look through them, knowing their contents would be horrid. He carried on walking the long corridor, walking forward towards some end he could not see. Samuel looked around and found that it was now dark all around him. He was saturated with a feeling of utter cold, yet his body could not shiver. Something in the dark, perhaps many things, watched him with invisible eyes. Samuel spun, seeming to hear a tapping of footsteps on wooden flooring, but nothing was there. A whispering voice called through the dark.
‘Oosoo Ahn,’ it called.
The icy voice filled Samuel with fright, for he remembered the last time he had heard those words, when he had released the spirit into the world of the living.
‘Ahboo Ahn,’ came another voice—perhaps the same voice.
Something pulled at Samuel’s leg and he spun around. Wispy tendrils curled in the mist. Before his eyes, a milky claw formed in the air and reached out for his face.
Samuel screamed and ran blindly through the mist, gibbering with fright and tears. Whispering came from all around and clawed figures stooped and hovered at the corners of his vision. Something enormous loomed before him and Samuel stopped dead as an immense thing appeared out from the dark. It had nothing but eyes and a mouth and bulk; an enormous sense of weight that stretched back into the darkness, as if there the thing had no end.
Its eyes regarded Samuel emotionlessly and its mouth began to open. A heavy, clawed arm came slowly from its side and propped itself on Samuel’s head, pushing him to his knees. ‘I am waiting for you,’ it croaked in a language as old as time. It regarded him kneeling before it and a wicked, contented smile formed across its slavering lips.
Samuel blubbered and closed his eyes tight, wishing that it would go away, that the nightmare would end, but the claw began to pull him forwards, drawing him up and slowly into the opening mouth of the terrible, hungry thing. He opened his mouth to shout, but he could not make a sound.
From somewhere, a child’s voice began to call. ‘Father!’ it called. ‘Father! Father!’ over and over again. It was a mournful and fearful voice, like a child calling out for a loved one taken away. The claw then opened and released him and the enormous thing retreated into the darkness, gasping and babbling. Everything returned to utter blackness.
A new scene then began to evolve from the void. Samuel could see himself as a small boy. He was standing in his childhood home. His family was there at the table, laughing and talking soundlessly. He faced the door, for he knew there was something on the other side that wanted to come in. The boy tried to call out to his family, but the door had already swung open and the tall man was there. He was grinning maniacally and Samuel knew his face. It was Master Ash, and, as the man stepped in, his clothes became magician’s robes. Samuel turned to his family, but they were already staring at Ash—their faces were frozen masks of sheer horror and blood began to seep from their eyes and mouths. Samuel screamed as hard as he could, but the sound still would not come out. All he could hear was ‘Father!’ over and over again and it was now him calling. As the scene grew darker and darker, Samuel cowered under the table, frozen in fear as his father’s dead face stared across at him from upon the floor. Legs struggled silently back and forth about the room, but Ash stayed in the doorway, watching on with pleasure.
Moments or years passed, Samuel could not tell. His sleep seemed endless, restless. Dreams and nightmares swirled around him, intangible and formless. Voices and images haunted him, bordering on meaning, but unrecognisable. He yearned to wake up. He wanted to yell, ‘Wake up! Wake up!’ to himself and somehow just open his eyes—but he could not. Through the mists of obscurity, two voices slowly began to b
ecome clear. He knew he had heard them speaking through his dreams before, but his head was groggy and they lingered on the far side of recognition.
‘The boy is resting now,’ one said gruffly, wearily.
‘At last,’ the other said—a thin and nasal tone.
‘I was foolish not have taken more care with him. He could have overspent himself. Although, I must admit, it was interesting to see him showing some of his ability.’
‘It seems he is very attached to his friends. Perhaps, we should have used that to begin with.’
‘Too late now,’ the gruff voice admitted, with annoyance. A few breaths of silence. ‘So what do we do with him now?’
‘We have been fighting a gradually losing battle and I’ve used every favour owed to me. The boy has showed his hand and we have made little other gains. Yes—it is time for the boy to provide the leverage we need. Even if he is not up to the task, just the threat of bringing him into play may be enough.’
‘Do you really think it is wise to involve him now?’ the rough voice asked.
‘Yes. I am betting on it.’
‘You are betting our lives!’ the gruff voice said, with alarm.
‘Indeed, so I recommend you tread carefully. If his potential comes to fruition—just imagine! Who could ever catch him? He could be anywhere! That is, indeed, a power worth possessing. For this, the Circle will give us the final ingredients for our plan, and then even having the boy will not matter once his secret has been revealed.’
‘We cannot risk letting the Circle becoming involved!’ the gruff voice said fearfully.
‘They are already involved. They are involved in everything.’
‘But not directly—not yet, and we must do everything in our power to keep it that way or it will be our necks.’
The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) Page 28
