by Lance, C. M.
"You can sense magic? If it's in me, it has to be very deep. You're kidding aren't you?"
"In some it takes longer to mature. I keep expecting yours to blossom, but I can't wait any longer. There are things I must show you."
"Maybe if you don't show me, you can last longer."
"Not enough to make a difference. I wanted the privacy of your room, so I can show you. I didn't want to do it in the barn. It might scare the horses."
Sig frowned. "What makes you think that I'll be any less scared than the horses?"
"You may be scared, but you won't cause as much trouble because you don't weigh over 500 pounds like they do, yet."
Sig's forehead creased. Yet?
"You asked what a Battle Wizard is. I'll show you first, and then I'll explain."
Grampa Thor reached into his shirt collar, took a gold chain from around his neck, and handed it to Sig. "Have you seen the medallion I wear? It is Aðalbrandr." It sounded like he said A-dul-bronder.
"It focuses my magic. Aðalbrandr means noble sword or first sword. Family legend says it's the very first battle talisman. It's what makes me a Battle Wizard."
Sig held it up by the chain and peered closely at a perfectly formed miniature long sword hanging from it. The hilt, pommel, and curved cross-guard were golden. The silver double-edged blade with a single groove down the center sparkled in the light. A blue stone gleamed, at the cross guard. A link attached the pommel to the gold chain.
"Notice that I didn't say its name until you were holding it. You'll see why."
Grampa took it back, gripped the miniature sword in his fist, the chain trailing down his forearm, and looked at Sig. "I can't do many more of these, so watch and listen carefully."
He closed his eyes and said Aðalbrandr." The air around Grampa Thor coruscated and he blurred. The blur expanded. In a moment, it cleared and a huge Viking warrior stood in place of Grampa.
The tips of the horns on his battle helm almost touched the ceiling. Brown hair salted with gray, the same color as Grampa's, flowed thickly to his shoulders. Wolf pelts draped his muscular torso, and he held an immense double-edged two-handed sword that looked just like the one on Grampa's necklace ― but this sword was four feet long. The warrior carried it easily in one hand. Much broader than a regular human, his massive body, legs, and arms were sheathed in muscle.
The sword extended almost to the wall when he spread his arms. "This is what a Battle Wizard looks like", he growled. Lowering the sword, he turned around. "How tall do I appear?" The floor creaked as he pivoted.
Sig realizing his mouth hung open snapped it shut. He stood, stretched to look up to him, and said, "Well over seven feet, not counting the horns. They almost touch the roof."
The warrior frowned. "I was afraid of that. My magic is decreasing. I used to be almost eight feet tall. I'll change back. You get the idea." He held the sword in front of him with two hands, tip on the ground and said "Koma aftur."
The air shimmered; the warrior blurred and shrank until Grampa Thor stood in front of Sig, holding the talisman in his hand. Grampa slumped back into the chair, chain dangling.
He sat for a moment; eyes clenched shut by a frown, breathing heavily. His eyelids cracked open and his deep blue eyes peered out at Sig. "What is a Battle Wizard? Thousands of years ago, long before the first Vikings raided Ireland, the forces of black magic were on the rise, pressing for domination. A group came together in the Northland to fight back; sorcerers, druids, dwarfs, wizards, witches and other fae to fight back. All swore never to touch the Dark and combine their knowledge and powers to find a weapon against its evil."
"Is that the weapon?"
Grampa glanced at the hand holding Aðalbrandr. "Yes, this is the weapon. The universe is composed of multiple dimensions. Some filled with evil. Dark Mages draw on those. The group opposed to them combined other magic to make this. Legend is they called it the Dragon Sword."
Sig's eyes grew wider. "Dragon Sword? Why?"
"Dragons have the most powerful magic; able to transit between dimensions, and resistant to most other magic, but their ways are not the ways of men. The group somehow drew on Dragon magic. What they did is lost to us. However, they bequeathed the first sword to your great, great, umpty-great grandsire. It's been said that he was the only one brave enough, or stupid enough, or quarrelsome enough to take it. There are lots of opinions about him, but they all conclude that he was one of the most powerful wizards of that time. Since then our line has passed it down and each has lead the fight against black magic. I am the twelfth Battle Wizard in our line and now I must pass it on,"
He lifted and extended the chain toward Sig. "Here this is yours." He sounded tired.
Sig stared numbly at it. Grampa shook the chain at him "Take it. It won't bite."
Sig eased his hand forward, but stopped. It was too much. This morning he didn't have magic. Now he's supposed to lead the fight against black magic?
"Grampa I'm not ready for this. I don't have any magic. Besides, if you're the twelfth, that would make me the unlucky thirteenth."
Grampa leaned forward and draped it across Sig's hand. "Take it!"
Sig clenched the chain and raised the dangling medallion to a level with his eyes, looking for secrets, fearing they wouldn't reveal themselves to him.
"Go ahead, hold the medallion." Thor said.
Sig reached up with his left hand, grasped the amulet, and jerked his hand back.
As if startled by Sig's reaction, Thor peered at the hand that had touched the amulet. "What happened?"
"It felt warm, and tingly; like it's humming."
"Warm and tingly? Interesting. So far, other than sensing the zombies, you haven't show signs of magic. I'm supposed to make a speech about leading the fight against the forces of darkness before I give this to you … yada yada, but I don't know if I can give it to you since you haven't exhibited any magic. Grasp the amulet and say Aðalbrandr. See if the feeling in your hand changes at all."
"Are you sure?"
"What's the worst that could happen—you turn into a midget warrior? Aðalbrandr focuses and strengthens your power. With no magic, I don't expect anything to happen. Go ahead. I don't know what to expect, but we have to try and see what happens."
Skeptical, Sig shrugged, stood up, and muttered, "Aðalbrandr."
The room blurred and shrank. He started to drop the amulet but something slammed into his head with a thunderous boom followed by the sound of wood breaking. The blow knocked him to his knees. He threw his hands up and the sword now in his hand, stabbed deep into the ceiling.
Grampa hollered, "Holy Crap!" as he stepped away from Sig. Feet pounded up the stairs and the bedroom door swung open.
"What in the world is going…?" Mom said. She looked Sig in the eye then backed out of the room. How can she look me in the eye? I'm on my knees.
Grampa stepped in front of him, hands up, also looking him in the eyes. "Don't move. Don't get up. Lower the sword. Slowly."
Sig looked up to where it pierced the ceiling, tugged it out, and set it on the bed. It stretched almost as long as his bed—longer than when Grampa held it. Plaster dust drifted downward from another hole in the ceiling. An exposed, fractured ceiling beam had a bowl shaped dent in it.
"What happened? Who hit me?" His voice sounded funny. It rumbled.
Meredith's eyes searched the room, stopping at the closed closet door and said "Sigurd where are you?"
"Mom I'm right here."
She looked back at him and said "Oh, my god!" Stunned, she stepped back and sagged against the hallway wall. "Did he say someone hit him?"
Grampa Thor walked over, put a hand on her arm, and looked back at Sig. "He's OK. Hit his head on the ceiling. It didn't hurt; just surprised him. I'm sorry." Her mouth dropped open at the sight of the hole in the ceiling.
Her eyes narrowed as she turned on Grampa. As if to curtail an outburst, he placed his hand on her shoulder and her anger seemed to deflate.
; He stared into her eyes. "I had no idea this would happen. I'm almost as shocked as you and Sig. Before we get everyone further upset, why don't you go downstairs while I get this cleaned up, have Sig change back, and then we'll come down, and explain what happened. You probably need a drink. While you're doing that, I'll take a Stoli on the rocks with a lemon twist."
Surprisingly, she nodded in acquiescence. Sig expected her to react more like a mother bear. Maybe she was in shock from everything that happened today, like he was. Did Grampa use magic on her?
Taking her arm firmly, Grampa led her to the stairway. "Everything will be okay" He gently guiding her down the first step. When she continued down, he returned and closed the bedroom door.
He leaned against the door, looked at Sig, and shook his head and sighed. "You're going to need a bigger horse."
Grampa Thor pushed off from the door and spread his arms wide as he stepped over to put his hands on Sig's shoulders.
"OK, grab the sword. Leave it on the bed. Don't wipe out the room with it. Hold the grip and repeat after me. Koma aftur. It means 'return' in old Norse."
Sig repeated it. The room blurred and expanded around him. Grampa Thor grew; arms still extended but his hands no longer touched Sig's shoulders.
Grampa stepped back and dropped into the chair, leaving Sig kneeling in the middle of the room, holding the sword shaped amulet in his right hand.
Sig got up from his knees. "What happened?"
Grampa looked at Sig, as if staring through him. Sig sat down on the bed and repeated in a louder voice. "What happened?"
Grampa jerked, and his eyes focused. He looked at Sig, really looked at him. Sig felt uncomfortable under the penetrating stare.
Grampa sighed. "Well, those tests they gave you for magic are a crock. You have magic, powerful magic." He looked up at the fractured beam showing through the hole smashed in the ceiling plaster.
"At my most powerful, my battle helm would have brushed an eight-foot ceiling like this, or maybe the horns would have dented it a little. You, young man, were going right through the ceiling if your head hadn't run into that beam."
He raised his eyebrows and said. "I would guess you are nine feet tall. There's never been a nine-foot Battle Wizard. I was the tallest and the biggest."
Grampa patted his chest and grimaced, "At least I was until my recent problem. It's true what they say, size matters. For Battle Wizards size is proportional to magical strength."
Grampa Thor's words echoed in his head. He heard them but they didn't make sense. He felt surreal. Finally, he said. "I have magic? How could that be? I've never felt magic; never done anything magical."
Grampa barked out a laugh. "What do you call what just happened?"
Taken aback, Sig felt his face redden. "I didn't do that; this did." He held up the amulet.
Grampa shook his head. "Remember, I said Aðalbrandr focuses your magic."
At the sword's name, Sig's eyes widened in apprehension, and he looked between Grampa and the amulet.
Thor waved a hand. "Don't worry, it won't happen unless you say his name while you're holding him, so everything is copasetic. That's lesson number two—don't say his name if you don't want to change. As you saw, it happens quickly and impressively, if I do say so myself." A smile wrinkled his lips.
"You keep referring to it as 'him'. Why is that?"
"Hmmm. Never thought about it. It's always been a him, long before my time. Maybe because it focuses our magic and Battle Wizards are always men. Or maybe because it's a sword."
Sig held out the amulet. "Why don't you keep this and give me another one? Don't you need this?"
"There isn't another to give you. The mountain dwarf who made them, thousands of years ago, took the secret of the sword to his grave. Each family that has one of the few amulets made guards it jealously. Only one family tried to give theirs away after no child born to their line had magic. No one they tried to give it to could make its magic work. Eventually it was lost. I thought that would happen to our family. Edward had no magic and Meredith was his only child."
"But you said she has magic."
"Magic she has isn't the kind needed to control Aðalbrandr. I feared I would be the last in my line. But the first time I held you, I knew you had it."
"Where is it?" Sig growled in frustration.
"In some it takes longer to develop. Unfortunately, I don't have longer. The sword is yours now until you can pass it down our line. It will be what you make of it. It can be just a pretty necklace or you can step forward to take the lead. Your training starts now. Third lesson ― if you remain a Battle Wizard for an extended period, the more likely you are to develop a battle rage."
"A rage?"
"Have you ever heard of Viking berserkers?"
Sig nodded. "Living in Minnesota? You'd have to live under a rock not to have heard of berserkers."
"Berserkers were often Battle Wizards too long in battle shape, or Vikings following them into battle. Some of those early Vikings were nuts." He chuckled. "Hell, some of the current Vikings are nuts from what I see at football games."
His face grew serious. "How are you feeling now? The first change can be a shock, especially if you aren't adequately prepared for it by someone knowledgeable." He looked remorseful.
Sig stood stared at the wall. Playing quarterback on a 3A football team is the closest he'd come to leadership. That's a far cry from leading a fight against black magic.
Grampa Sig smiled and waved his hand for Sig to get up. "We've kept your mother in suspense long enough. If you're up to it, we should join her downstairs."
Sig took a deep breath then exhaled forcefully. He nodded and got up from the bed. "Let's talk to her before I lose my courage."
Grampa clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit. Forward, into the valley of death."
Sig didn't like the sound of that.
Sig and Thor walked into the great room where Mom waited.
A modern addition to the old farmhouse, the great room had expansive windows and a lofty ceiling. Meredith sat in a chair next to a wood fire snapping in the large stone fireplace. She had a slender glass of chilled white wine and a worried expression. With a gesture to the large recliner that had been Dad's and then Grandfather Edward's, she said, "Have a seat there Grampa. Your Stoli with a lemon twist is on the table beside it."
She looked at Sig for a moment then said, "You can have a beer if you'd like one."
Sig hesitated, then nodded, and headed to the kitchen. He returned quickly and sat on the raised stone hearth, elbows on his knees, hands cradling the bottle of beer.
Mom frowned as she studied Sig's face. Grampa Thor cleared his throat. "Meredith, as much as I'd like to pretend what happened to your son upstairs didn't, I guess I have some 'splainin' to do."
Meredith heaved a sigh and nodded.
Grampa Thor looked down at the floor for a moment then looked up. "Yes, you saw magic upstairs. Our family comes from old magic—from before the world changed. We have been practicing for thousands of years. Sig also carries the old magic. I sensed it the first time I held him, before magic changed ten years ago." He looked at the fire. "I never sensed magic in you or Edward, though I wished for it. Perhaps I am mistaken about you dear. My only excuse is that if you have magic, it differs from what I'm used to."
Grampa continued. "If a man in our line has magic, he can use Aðalbrandr, as Sig has."
Sig got up and handed the medallion to his Mom.
She took it 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 that have happened in the world, and mistakes that I've made, 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 talk. I wonder what it does mean to you. Normally, you would have already been exhibiting magic and 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" He waved towards the window which faced the barn. "That was more black magic. Creating zombies is necromancy. That's black magic. A Dark Sorcerer had to command them."
He pursed his lips and looked up at her. "Martin's body was found in the field that burned next to the cemetery. You questioned the medical examiner's decision that he was struck by lightning from a storm miles away."
"Yes, he said it was 'a bolt out of the blue'. I understand that those things happen, but I questioned why the lightning blasted through him instead of running horizontally, like you see on trees." She said.
"I should have listened better. You described what now sounds like the effect of a Wizard throwing a lance of fire or lightning. And it happened next to the cemetery, the probable source of those zombies we fought."
