The Choice of Magic

by Michael G. Manning

  Will’s fists were balled up so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Deep down, he hoped Dave would go on so he could vent his anger on the man, but the ex-cutpurse surprised him.

  “Whoa, sorry. I didn’t realize it was something important.” That said, the other man backed away and went to his bedroll. Corporal Taylor walked over and began whispering into Dave’s ear, explaining what he knew of the situation.

  Everyone left him alone until lights out.

  Chapter 40

  The next couple of months went by slowly for a couple of reasons, the first being that Will was anxious to get back to Barrowden. Aside from Eric’s family, there were a lot of people he was worried about, like the Tanners—or Annabelle Withy. He tried to be rational. Chances were most of them were dead, but it ate at him not knowing.

  The other reason time moved so slowly was that he was miserable. The constant drills and training had taught him new things about fatigue and exhaustion. His body had adapted, so it wasn’t as bad anymore, but the constant supervision and lack of freedom was beginning to drive him slightly mad.

  Once his first eight weeks were finished, he was told he was no longer a trainee, though he didn’t feel any different. He had paid off his debt for the spear and shield and had six silver clima in his purse, more money than he had ever personally possessed in his entire life. Unless one counted that time when he had briefly held the gold crown that he had used to pay his aunt.

  Since he was no longer a trainee, he was entitled to one day of recreation every two weeks, which seemed rather pointless since he didn’t know anyone in Branscombe. Free days were arranged by squad, which meant he could go into town with Tiny, but Eric was in an entirely different company, so their days would never line up.

  The first time he had the opportunity, he declined Corporal Taylor’s offer to go into Branscombe together. He could tell his decision disappointed Tiny, but Will had one thing to do that came before everything else. Starting early, he visited the town’s market and bought everything he thought Sammy and his mother were probably missing: salt, sausages, cabbage, lard, flour, dried beans. He even bought certain perishables, like milk and butter.

  No matter how long he thought about it, he felt certain there were things he probably hadn’t considered, but he did the best he could, and when he was finished his purse was empty. Heavily laden, he left town, keeping a close eye on the road behind him. It wouldn’t do for any of his fellow soldiers to wonder about his destination. Then he went home.

  The journey was short and unremarkable, taking only a matter of minutes, but when he reached his grandfather’s house he hesitated. Maybe I should just try and leave everything on the porch, he thought, dreading the idea of facing his mother.

  He nearly jumped out of his armor when he heard Sammy scream from the direction of the garden. Turning around, he barely managed to angle the hilt of his sword away so it wouldn’t hit her in the stomach before she slammed into him at a full charge. She was slightly taller than he remembered, but that hardly mattered as she clung to him, repeating his name over and over. “Will, Will, Will… Do you know how worried we were? How could you do that? I thought you’d be dead for sure! Then Dad came back and we knew you weren’t dead, but I was still mad! And your mom! Aunt Erisa nearly lost her mind. What’s all this stuff?”

  He had dropped his bags to catch her.

  “Is that your shield? Your face looks so skinny. Why aren’t they feeding you more? Is Eric all right? Dad said he hadn’t seen him since they were conscripted. Is anyone picking on him?” The questions kept tumbling out of her at such a pace that Will couldn’t hope to remember them all.

  “William?” his mother’s voice called tentatively from behind him.

  Disentangling himself from Sammy, he turned to face her. She looked old, too old and fragile to be the woman who had raised him, and the expression on her face brought his guilt roaring to the surface. “Mom.”

  She took several hesitant steps toward him and he had to caution her, “Watch out. There’s a clay jar full of milk in that bag. It was expensive—” Ignoring his advice, she stepped over the bag and put her arms around him.

  Neither of them spoke for a while, but eventually she told him, “Make no mistake, I’m still furious with you. Especially so, since you brought Johnathan back and didn’t even have the decency to let me see your face.”

  “I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”

  She stepped away and took note of the bags scattered around him. “Sammy, help me. We should take these things inside.”

  “Let me, Mom. I brought it.”

  “Nonsense. Go inside and take off that thing you’re wearing. It reeks to high heaven. I’ve never smelled such a stench. You need a bath before anything else.” The disgust on her face made it clear she thought his gambeson should be taken far away and burned.

  There was nothing he could do but agree. He knew well how stubborn his mother could be. She and Sammy buzzed around him like flies, ushering him into the house and forcing him to strip down while they built up the fire to warm the front room. Sammy let out a gasp when he removed his padded armor and tunic—not because of his near-nakedness though; she had grown up with two brothers.

  “Whoa! Look at your muscles!” she exclaimed.

  Erisa intervened. “Sammy, take his clothes outside and wash them. Twice.”

  Two hours later, he was clean and sitting by the fire in one of his grandfather’s old robes while his clothes were drying by the fire. His uncle had returned by then, and Will spent a considerable amount of time telling them about everything he had been through over the past couple of months.

  His mother started to cook, but Will went over and told her to take a break. “You’ve been cooking for the three of you for the past few months. Let me.”

  She looked at him curiously. “You’ve hardly had a moment to yourself in ages with all the training. Wouldn’t you like to rest?”

  Being in his grandfather’s house again had brought back quite a few memories. “I haven’t been allowed to cook since I left. I miss it.”

  Erisa didn’t argue any further, so Will set about his task. He had spent entirely too much on the pork tenderloin he had bought, partly because of his guilt, but he had also been imagining what he would do like to do with it. He cut the meat into four thick chops and melted some of the lard in the pan before adding them. “I saw some wood sorrel outside,” he said without taking his attention from the pan.

  His mother smiled and stepped out. She returned a few minutes later with several good handfuls of green sorrel leaves and stems. They looked a lot like clover, but Will knew from experience the taste was entirely different. Sorrel had a sour flavor that suited pork and fish.

  While the meat finished, he bruised the leaves and put them in a bowl. Then he nodded at Sammy. “Mash them as much as you can, then add a little water and strain them through a piece of cloth.”

  As she started that, he took the meat out of the pan and sautéed some cabbage briefly before removing that as well. Then he added flour to the drippings and made a roux. “A little milk at the end and we have a nice cream gravy,” he said, speaking to himself. Once the sauce was done, he added the cabbage back in and finished cooking it.

  “There you have it,” he told them as he divvied up the food. “Pork tenderloin with a sour sorrel sauce and creamed cabbage.”

  Everyone was smiling as they ate, and Sammy made no effort to hide her delight. “Is this magic?” she asked. “I’ve never had anything so good.”

  “The old man would have probably called it passable,” said Will dryly. “If I had thought to bring some honey and mint, I could have made something even better. Of course, it’s too early for mint.”

  “Actually, I’ve been growing some indoors,” said his mother. “It’s always handy.”

  Once the food was done Sammy cleaned up and the conversation returned to serious matters. “Have the reinforcements arrived yet?” asked his uncle.

 
Will scowled. “No, and from what I overheard there won’t be any.”

  “That’s insane,” growled Johnathan. “Doesn’t the king realize that won’t be enough?”

  “They seem to think the attack here is a diversion,” said Will. “Lognion is sending the bulk of his army to Thornton to fend off an attack there. Supposedly the Darrowan fleet is going to make a landing somewhere near there.”

  Unable to contain himself, Will’s uncle got to his feet and went to stand by the door. “The fool! I haven’t risked getting close, but I’ve seen enough to know this isn’t a diversion. There are several thousand men camped around Barrowden, and they’ve spent the winter clearing and widening the road. The Patriarch is obviously planning to march the rest of his army through here in the spring.”

  “Someone has to warn them,” said Will, thinking aloud.

  “Shouldn’t that be you?” asked his mother. “You’re going back this evening, aren’t you?”

  His uncle shook his head. “How? He can’t just go up to one of the officers and tell them he used magic to get here and return. Even if they believed him, he could be arrested for being a warlock.”

  “I’m not a warlock,” insisted Will.

  “A sorcerer then,” said Johnathan, waving one hand dismissively.

  “I’m not that either,” said Will. He was beginning to understand why his own questions had irritated his grandfather so much. “But you’re right. I could be arrested as an unlicensed wizard.” An idea came to him then. “I don’t have to report it in person, though.”

  “What do you mean?” asked his mother.

  Rising, Will headed for the door that led to the back room of the house. “I’ll write a note. I think I know someone with enough power to get the information into the right hands.” Opening the door, he was surprised to see that the room had changed. The bookcases were still there, heavily laden as before, but the top of Arrogan’s desk was covered with clothes. “Where’s the parchment and ink?”

  It turned out that his mother had taken to using the desk as a worktable while mending their limited supply of clothing. “I put everything in the cabinet there,” she said, indicating a cupboard built into a stand next to the bed. While Will brought out what he needed, she cleared away the top of the desk.

  Will found the inkwell, several quills, blotting sand, and a small but valuable stack of parchment. Considering its cost, Arrogan had only let him practice his writing with actual parchment on a few occasions. Usually he had to make do with slate and chalk. He hoped the person who eventually saw his note wouldn’t discredit it simply because of his poor penmanship.

  On top of the parchment there was a large, leather-bound book. Unlike most of the books he had seen, there was nothing stamped on the cover or spine. He could also see a strange haze of magic hovering around it. Curious, he opened it. The first few pages were blank, but the fourth page seemed to be a title page, for written on it in large bold letters were the words, ‘Journals Are Stupid.’ The calligraphy was crude compared to what Will had seen in other books. Almost as bad as my hand, he thought with a smile.

  He turned the page, and on the back close to the bottom, he saw something else. Studying it carefully, he realized it was another line, written so small as to be almost illegible without a magnifying glass: ‘and so is Aislinn.’ Did Grandfather write this? The lettering was far different from what he had seen in the past. Arrogan’s penmanship was neat and precise, completely unlike the clumsy writing on the page.

  The next page held the first entry:

  Y98 Earrach, Feabhra 10

  To whoever finds this, know that I am writing under duress. My teacher insists that writing is good for the soul, but that is in fact simply an excuse for her torture of this unfortunate prisoner. I have been encouraged to use this time to record notable events or lessons so that I can reflect on them in the future. Therefore, I will make this a record of my abuse at the hands of that cruel woman.

  Feabhra 11

  Nearly died last week (before starting this journal) but I decided I should make a mention of it here so I wouldn’t forget. She (who should not be named) put me through a period of torment unlike anything ever experienced by man or woman. She claimed it was to prepare me for wizardry but that seems unlikely to me. Each morning I was put under a foul spell and forced to endure extreme pain for most of the day. Only at bedtime would she remove the spell and allow me to rest. I finally succeeded in escaping the pain only by twisting my soul into a perversely small knot. She claimed this was her goal all along, but I strongly suspect otherwise.

  Feabhra 13

  She refused to feed me today. What does cleaning floors have to do with magic? Answer, nothing. I already know she can clean them with a simple spell (which she refuses to teach me, along with anything else useful). Thus begins my slow starvation unto death.

  Feabhra 14

  After completing a hellish number of tasks, I was allowed food today, if what she prepared could credibly be called food. Once I had tasted it, I realized that deprivation might be a kindness.

  “It’s his journal,” muttered Will. Year ninety-eight was nearly a hundred years after the War for Independence, which didn’t make sense if Arrogan had fought in that war.

  His mother’s voice spoke from behind his shoulder, startling him. “I think the dates are in Darrowan years. Ninety-eight is around two hundred years before year one of the Terabinian calendar.”

  Will looked at his mother. “Have you read this?”

  She nodded. “Not all of it yet. I found it after you left. From what I’ve seen, he wrote in it almost daily near the beginning, but later he started to skip weeks and months. Toward the middle he begins to skip entire years. In the later portion he skips decades, until you show up.”

  “Me?”

  Erisa smiled. “You made a deep impression on him, I think.”

  Will thumbed through the pages in the latter half of the journal. His mother put her finger on the page when he reached the right spot. “Here,” she told him.

  Y770 Earrach, Marta 17

  Erisa’s brat is just as stubborn as his mother. I’m still not certain why I agreed to help her. Maybe I’m starting to go senile. I can’t have too many more years ahead of me, so it makes little sense for me to ruin them with such a burden, yet here I am. If I can teach the kid to hide his differences and avoid doing anything stupid he might live a normal life.

  Not sure why I care.

  Marta 20

  Will asked if he could call me Grandfather today and I didn’t know what to say. The boy is obviously looking for a father figure of some sort, and I suppose I can’t blame him since Mark Nerrow’s biggest contribution to his life is making sure his wife’s family didn’t murder him in infancy. His mother did the same years ago, and I never had the heart to tell her that I didn’t have a clue if we were related or not. After so many centuries it’s possible I’m related to half the people in Terabinia, or none of them. I lost touch with the world for so long it’s hard to say.

  Why he would look to me is a mystery, I’ve certainly done him no favors. I definitely haven’t been nice to him. Sometimes his innocence makes me angry, though in all honesty I’m probably angry with myself for all the mistakes I made back in the day. Having him around has brought up all sorts of things I would rather forget.

  Y770 Fomhar, Lunasa 3

  I dreamt about her again and woke up in a cold sweat. It’s been decades since the nightmares bothered me. I was thinking about letting the boy sleep in my room during the winter, but if this continues it would only frighten him. Not sure why the dreams have returned. My first guess is that it’s his terrible cooking. He and Aislinn could have competed for worst dish if there were contests for such things. Or it might be because he reminds me of myself back when I was his age, stupid and stubborn.

  Fortunately, one of the other village brats brought a cot for him. At least I don’t have to feel guilty about him sleeping on the floor anymore.

&nbs
p; Lunasa 18

  The little shit managed to get himself into serious trouble. Who eats strange plants? He claimed to be able to sense whether plants are edible or not, so he’s definitely more sensitive than I thought. I may have been wrong to choose not to teach him. Either way, it’s obvious the fae were hoping to trap him.

  The only good thing about the day was scaring the shit out of Elthas again. I also saw Tailtiu, which hurt more than I thought it would after all this time. How long does it take for the heart to stop caring? Apparently four centuries isn’t enough. Thankfully Aislinn wasn’t there or I might have done something truly stupid.

  Either way, I have to teach him now. I don’t have the heart to abandon the boy.

  Lunasa 21

  He managed to reach the first order without dying. Not that I thought he wouldn’t, but I used the later technique rather than the one Aislinn used with me. Doing it all in one day was far more traumatic, but at least it spared him from suffering for a full week as I did. Not sure if he would agree, though. The last half of it was rough, so I used a link to keep a close watch on him. Hurt like hell. I almost gave up near the end before he finally got the hang of it. I don’t know why I put myself through that. It isn’t as though I like the kid, although he is pretty damn funny sometimes.

  Y770 Fomhar, Deireadh 7

  Nerrow showed up. The boy is still getting used to the second order. I followed him to make sure his noble father didn’t attempt any jackassery. Surprisingly the pompous prick offered to send the boy to Wurthaven. Of course, the fools there would only ruin my work at this stage, but it might be useful for the kid later.

  Y770 Geimhreadh, Noilag 19

  He managed the third order and I don’t think I’ve been this proud since Valmon made it. Hopefully he’ll turn out better, but at my age I probably don’t have to worry about living through it if he goes rotten. The kid has a good heart, far better than my last student, even if he’s as dense as a rock sometimes. No less remarkable, his cooking has greatly improved (not that I’d tell him). Will has a tendency to experiment with edible wild plants, which often leads to surprisingly tasty results.