The Young Magician

‘Aye,’ the aging man grinned. ‘But that wouldn’t do. My neighbours are my friends, as well, despite our little disagreements. Besides, Mrs Down has an allergy. One dog hair up her nose and she’s sniffing and teary-eyed and can’t do a thing. That wouldn’t do at all.’

Samuel helped Simpson with various tasks throughout the day, running up and down the hill many times, but mostly just to pass messages to Mrs Down. For the bulk of the time, they just seemed to sit and ensure that his little flock of animals did not get themselves into trouble.

‘I could get used to this!’ Samuel stated at one point. ‘It can be quite relaxing to sit here. It’s not quite as hard as I thought.’

‘We haven’t done anything, yet,’ Simpson responded. ‘Tomorrow we’ll have a lot to do. Mrs Down took care of the urgent milking this morning, but we’ll need to manage them all tomorrow. Then, we’ll have to lead all the animals down to the valley and back, as my creek’s almost run dry. Several animals need to be caught and have their hooves clipped, but I suppose that can wait a few days more. Really, we’ve quite a lot of work to do tomorrow. I just thought I would start you off easy today and put off as much as we could.’

‘Oh,’ Samuel said. It actually did sound like quite a lot to do.

They arrived back at the little house just after sunset and Samuel was exhausted. Mrs Down had prepared some soup and roast vegetables, which Samuel swallowed heartily. Somehow, her meals were delicious, despite her almost vacuous pantry.

The next morning, Simpson roused Samuel while it was still dark outside. After he had managed to get his clothes on, Samuel helped the old man outside, and he was surprised to see that most of the goats and cows were gathered around the house in the dim, pre-dawn light.

Simpson set about teaching Samuel how to milk and it took him a while to catch on. He had often seen it done when he was young, but had never tried it before. It took several hours for them to finish milking all the animals and by the time they were done, Samuel could barely move his hands at all, as they were so sore. When the milk was safely poured into the various large barrels beside the house they went inside for their breakfast. Shortly after, they began back up the hill, with Samuel helping old Mr Down slowly limp along until they reached the jutting boulder.

‘I have an idea, if you don’t mind me trying, Simpson,’ Samuel said and the old man glanced towards him, still sucking on his pipe. ‘It’s starting to look as if I’m not quite the best farmer.’

‘I’ll give you that one,’ Simpson said with a mischievous smile.

‘And I’m not really a merchant, either.’

‘I’m not stupid, lad. Of course, you’re not.’

‘You knew?’ Samuel said with surprise.

‘Of course. You think I’m daft? You’d be the sorriest excuse for a businessman if ever I saw one. Don’t take me wrong, but Mrs Down and I knew it wasn’t true the moment you spoke it. You’re just not cut for it. No merchant I’ve ever met would save his own mother from a fire, let alone help an old man home on a country road-especially one from the Empire.’

‘But you didn’t say anything.’

‘It wouldn’t be polite.’

Samuel chewed over the thought for a few moments. The ways of these country folk were certainly perplexing.

‘So, what’s your idea then?’ Simpson asked finally. ‘If it can help either of us, I’d be mighty appreciative. I hate seeing you run around like a fool all day.’ Simpson bore a cheeky grin at the last part, with his pipe still clenched firmly between his teeth.

‘Well,’ Samuel began, still unsure, ‘perhaps I can try something that may help, but I want you keep an open mind.’

‘At this point in my life, lad, my mind’s as open as can be. If it were any opener the birds would be nesting in it.’

Samuel nodded and started down the hill towards the sheep. The woolly animals regarded him with indifference as the spiny grass continued to disappear down their throats. One animal lifted its tail and a number of dark pellets bounced out onto the grass.

Samuel closed his eyes for a moment and felt calm serenity in that darkness. Years of experience in reaching into the void came back to him, and he found it at once-that state of mind vital to channelling magic. He gathered his energy and began to spell, weaving a complex formation of colour from pure energy. In a matter of moments, he had created the illusion of a dog, albeit a simple outline, floating just slightly above the ground. Samuel chuckled. Its face looked blankly ahead.

Samuel made his creation slide towards the sheep, throwing his voice from its snarling mouth. ‘Arf, Arf!’ he barked.

The sheep didn’t even blink as the illusion slid directly through one of them and faded away along with Samuel’s patience.

‘Are you blind!’ he swore at the animals.

He felt the blood grow hot in his face and he ground his teeth together firmly. For a moment he stood, clenching his white-knuckled fists, until, ‘Damnit!’ he screamed and tossed a furious knot of energy into the ground. There was a boom and a flash and the sheep bleated all the way down the hill on their frantic little legs, away from the blackened patch of smouldering grass. A satisfied smile lay on Samuel’s lips. He laughed and nodded to himself. He had shown them who was the smartest.

Turning back towards Simpson Down, Samuel was aghast to see all of the old man’s animals-goats and cows alike-disappearing up over the hilltop. ‘Damnation!’ Samuel swore and loped back up towards Simpson, who was still sitting and smoking calmly.

‘So you’re a magician, then?’ the old man asked.

‘Yes,’ Samuel answered sourly, ‘but apparently not such a great one.’

‘Well, I don’t mind in the least, but perhaps if you could find a way to move those sheep without blowing up or burning down my hill, it would be a little better?’

‘Perhaps,’ Samuel replied and sat down, defeated.

Over the next few days, Samuel kept trying to think of ways in which he could use his magic to help around the farm. Unfortunately, most of the jobs required hands-on attention and no spells he could think of could actually help.

Each morning before dawn, Samuel would be woken from his makeshift bed beside the table and he would yawn and rub his eyes before pulling on his black robes and following Simpson outside. Most of the cows would be waiting by the house and so Simpson would begin to milk them, while Samuel hurried the others down to wait their turn. If the goats were not already there, they would generally come sauntering down as soon as they heard Mrs Down calling out to them and rattling the tin buckets in which she kept the vegetable scraps.

While it was still early, Samuel and Simpson would lift the large milk-laden jars onto the rickety cart and the old donkey would begin to pull it along. Samuel would ride Jess alongside, not wishing to hinder the poor donkey any further by adding his weight to the cart.

They spent each morning crawling from house to house, on hill and in valley, selling milk or trading it for grain, vegetables and other perishables. The farmers and their wives were all surprised to see Samuel on his great horse and would stare until he was well out of sight. Simpson would say ‘new hand’ to them, if anything at all, by way of explanation.

‘You don’t get many strangers in these parts,’ the aged man explained to Samuel in his thick accent. ‘And you look a mite frightening to them with your tall horse and strange clothes.’

Samuel nodded and agreed there was need for a change.

It would be after noon before the cart creaked back to a halt beside the Down house and Samuel dropped from Jess’ saddle onto the bare earth. His legs ached from mounting and dismounting the animal all day, every day, and so he was generally glad to stagger inside and fall into a comfortable chair. After a brief respite, they’d spend the rest of the afternoon wandering about on the hill, keeping watch on the animals.

After a simple but delicious meal dished out by the ever-apologetic Mrs Down, Samuel would turn in early. He would throw out his blanket beside the table and collapse upon it, falling asleep before the old couple could even