The Young Magician

eventually, Samuel became bored with the creatures, for investigating one was like investigating another. One by one, he managed to harry them all away by placing the wolf image in their minds. It evoked such a strong reaction that Samuel assumed they must have encountered a wolf or two in the past, or perhaps it was some natural instinct. He could use their memories against them.

‘Getting better,’ Simpson remarked from his stone as Samuel sat down beside him. Samuel nodded. ‘We might be in for some rain tomorrow,’ Simpson mentioned, pointing his smoking pipe end far to the east. ‘Finally.’

‘No,’ Samuel stated. ‘I can’t feel any rain for a while.’

Simpson nodded, raising his eyebrows. ‘You can read the weather, too?’

‘Sometimes, but only a day or two ahead. Not much use.’

‘Might stop you from getting wet,’ Simpson noted.

‘Not really,’ Samuel corrected. ‘It’s one thing to know it’s going to rain and another to have the sense to keep out of it.’

The old man coughed and spluttered and finally spat out his pipe and laughed long and loud. ‘That be true,’ he declared. ‘That be true, lad.’

Samuel continued experimenting with the animals each day. Their minds were simple-focussing on their direct needs, such as eating and resting. The goats were slightly more complicated, often thinking of games and recalling fond memories of days past. Samuel could make the old nannies and bucks prance about by pushing the memories of youth into their minds. As soon as his influence stopped, however, they would immediately return to their more proper behaviour of standing around and doing very little.

Jess had an interesting mind and Samuel discovered she had emotions associated with different objects. She considered the lesser animals with disdain and this certainly included people. She housed some kinship with Samuel-that was reassuring at least-and regarded the donkey as something of a bothersome cousin. He felt a pain in the horse’s rump and, upon closer examination, Samuel felt a small lump under the surface. He scrutinised the energies of the area, and compared the patterns to its better side. He remembered reading the simple theory that by compelling the energy around the injury to take the shape of the healthy side, it would promote the animal to get better. They had been scheduled to learn more about healing, but then Dividian had taken over and battle spells has taken precedence.

Samuel bound his spell in place upon Jess’ small lump. It was the same sensation as leaving the mage-lights to float on their own-like tying a bootlace-and the spell would hold its position until its energy faded. Day after day, Jess’ discomfort became less as the lump diminished, until the point where his spell and her injury both faded together. He surmised that if he had made the spell much stronger, it would actually serve to protect the area from future harm, much like magical armour. How stupid of him! Of course, this was true! It was merely an extension of what he already knew. Sometimes, Samuel embarrassed himself with his own ignorance. He decided he would spend some time each day theorising on other such possibilities that may have slipped his notice. He could not let his studies suffer just because of his current predicament.

Samuel soon found that, with practice, he was getting much better at controlling all the animals. He could actually promote specific actions in the creatures, such as walking or turning around, and could control their bodily functions, such as passing faeces and urinating. He could even time an event for a predetermined moment, as the animals seemed greatly in tune with the seasons and the time of day. Simpson watched on in wonder as in unison his goats all walked together and formed a circle with their bodies.

‘Very impressive, lad,’ the old man declared, ‘but I’m not sure it will be of much use. I suppose I could take them to the market in Gilgarry and entertain the crowds?’

‘I could try to improve their produce,’ Samuel suggested, contemplating his alternatives. ‘What makes better milk?’ Samuel asked.

‘A stressed or sick animal gives bad milk, as well as one with poor feed or water. I suppose one that has good health and sufficient food and water has the better milk.’

‘Well, I can’t do much about their diet, so I’ll see what I can do to cheer the poor creatures up,’ Samuel said with a smug grin.

Simpson and his wife were amazed when the milk improved in quality and flavour virtually overnight. The village folk and other customers who bought their milk each day were amazed at the change in quality. ‘The best milk around,’ everyone was soon saying. The cows soon came waddling in with near bursting udders, which was fortunate, because demand for their goods increased as word of its quality spread. Samuel had even begun casting spells upon the varying sized jars they carried the milk in: one spell to fortify the vessels and protect them from breakage, and another to chill the milk, keeping it as fresh as if straight from the teat. They were simple spells that he had to repeat each morning, but they had a great effect upon increasing their profits.

‘What did you do to improve their milk so much, Samuel?’ Mrs Down asked.

‘I made them happy,’ Samuel answered. ‘It only lasts for a few days at a time, but for the time being you have cheerful goats and merry cows. I’ll see what I can do to make it last longer, if you like.’ He kept the other spells to himself for now. Despite their kindness, these were still quite superstitious people and would perhaps find that amount of tinkering with nature disturbing.

Simpson nodded and rubbed his whiskered chin. ‘Aye. As long as it don’t do them no harm.’

‘Happiness rarely does someone harm,’ Samuel noted.

‘So you say, but I’ve seen my fair share of young fools fall onto their arses at the village dance because they were too happy.’

Samuel laughed. ‘I’m not getting your animals drunk, so that shouldn’t happen. They’ve not got bony arses, anyway, so I don’t think it would hurt them if they did.’

Mrs Down laughed and they set into their supper. It was noticeably larger and tastier than usual.

Neighbours began calling and talking, poking around for a clue to anything new that Simpson might be doing with his stock but, as usual, he mostly just sat on his rock talking with the new hand.

‘What did you do to Branner’s sheep?’ one fellow asked one night as he called in to their home for tanabil tea.

‘What do you mean?’ Simpson asked.

A tiny smile started on Samuel’s lips as he scribbled some notes, listening in.

‘Branner says that the other day about ten of them came filing into his house and, all at once, lifted their tails and sh-I mean, deposited their leavings on the floor, and then all went out again. Him and his missus were dumbstruck. And he says that since then, they don’t come anywhere near here any more.’

‘Why that’s strange behaviour, to be sure,’ Simpson said, drawing on his pipe and looking at Samuel, ‘but I can’t say why sheep would do such a thing, sheep being sheep, that is. I’ve never really cared for sheep.’

Samuel’s skills were improving steadily and one day, as he sat next to Simpson, he decided to test his newfound ability on a human subject. He was fully confident of his capacity and so he turned his attention to the old man beside him.

At first, Samuel’s efforts went without fruition, but with each attempt he found his way deeper through the maze of complex energies of the man’s mind until he began at last to feel the strange sensation of foreign thoughts. He could sense a rhythmical pulsing that changed in speed and intensity seemingly randomly. Then, he began to hear a cascade of tones, rising and falling in sequence. It was a song. Samuel realised that old Simpson was humming it in his head. As Samuel delved inwards, he found Simpson’s mind to be a complex and shifting weave of memories and events, far beyond what he had experienced before. The energy around him was overwhelming, like massive hives of delicate lacework. He decided it would be very difficult to do anything in such a sophisticated place. It might even be dangerous for them both.

Another time, as Samuel sat and listened to the old man whistle merrily to himself, Samuel had an idea for a simple experiment. He began humming quietly in his mind. Carefully, he felt out for the energies of old Simpson. He let the two vibrations overlap, so that his own tune was mingled with Simpson’s. It was very difficult work. He had to concentrate on maintaining his own tune, feeling for Simpson's and then keep them bound together all at once.

After only a short time, Simpson took up Samuel’s tune as his own. Samuel smiled to himself smugly, for it confirmed his theory: two things did not even need to be touching to affect each other. All things were connected