The Young Magician tlt-1

by Michael Foster

  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 become 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.’

  ‘As always, we will take care,’ the thin-voiced one stated, ‘but we are in too deep to stop now. Everything is dangerous now and we are beyond desperate. And what about that young upstart? Is he still giving you trouble?’

  ‘Samuel?’ the gruff voice said with clear disdain. ‘He’s been nothing but trouble from the start. He has potential, I can see, but he is a risk to the boy and those around him. This latest misadventure of his had us up all night. We must find a way to be rid of him before he causes us any further grief.’

  Samuel awoke. The immediate relief of daylight greeted him and he let out the long breath he seemed to have been holding. He blinked several times and details began to show through the bright blur around him. He was in a small room, lying beneath the covers of a comfortable bed. There was nothing to determine where exactly he was, or why he was here.

  Sitting up, Samuel scratched his head. He felt a small cut there, now well healed over, and wondered where he had received it. Lying on a small stool beneath the window were his clothes, cleaned and folded, and Samuel slipped from the bed onto unsteady legs and dressed. After he had tugged on his boots and stamped his heels onto the floor to wedge them firmly in place, he stepped over to the door, opened it wide and peered outside.

  At least I’m still in the school, he thought. Now what’s going on? He stepped out and looked up. The sky was a beautiful blue, traced with a few wisps of perfectly white clouds. Already, the warmth was soothing on his face.

  ‘Samuel!’ someone called.

  ‘Tulan!’ Samuel replied, spying the man’s approach between the buildings. ‘What brings you to Cintar?’

  Tulan took Samuel’s hand and shook it, squeezing him firmly on the shoulder with his other. A great smile covered his face. ‘You do. I was just passing through, as usual, when I heard you’d taken ill. Do you remember what happened?’

  ‘That’s what I’d like to ask you,’ Samuel responded. ‘What was I doing in there? It’s one of the Master’s rooms, isn’t it?’

  Tulan scrutinised the small cottage a moment. ‘I imagine it’s vacant for the time being,’ Tulan said. He looked over both his shoulders and then his face became more serious. ‘Let’s talk.’

  He led Samuel back into the tiny residence where Samuel had awoken. Samuel sat on the bed edge when gestured by Tulan to do so and Tulan himself sat opposite on a delicate, wooden chair.

  ‘What do you r
emember happening to you?’ Tulan asked, planting a level eye on Samuel. His moustache was somewhat bushier than usual and a small dark beard adorned his normally naked chin.

  ‘I had these terrible dreams,’ Samuel began. ‘You know, it’s funny. I can’t remember what happened before that or even how I came to be in this room? The dreams seemed to last forever. Have I been drinking?’

  ‘No,’ Tulan laughed. ‘Not that I know of, anyway. Do you remember what happened to you in the Burning Oak-that time you were found in your room?’

  Samuel nodded. ‘I don’t really remember, but they told me. I was unconscious. I was chanting a mantra of Centring.’

  Tulan nodded in return. ‘That’s right. Something similar has happened again. I have only been here a day, but they told me it happened last week.’

  ‘Last week?’ Samuel asked in disbelief, straining to recall his last memories. ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘You had completely exhausted yourself of energy, almost to the point of death.’

  Samuel swallowed. ‘I feel fine now.’ It was all he could think to say.

  Tulan nodded. ‘They’ve been keeping a close eye on you-Master Glim and the Grand Master, especially. The Masters have been taking turns revitalising you, even feeding you. Even some of your friends were helping as best they could. I saw you last night, myself. They’d put a spoonful in your mouth and you’d chew it and swallow, as if you were awake. It was very strange. They tell me it’s a miracle you survived this time. You can certainly count yourself as being very lucky.’