The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy)

by Foster, Michael

  ‘Over here!’ came a voice.

  The water was so cold Samuel almost yelled again, but he put one hand over his mouth and held the noise in as best he could. He knew the men would be attracted by his splash and so he ducked under the water and kicked his feet, swimming like a trout. Underneath, the river was absolute blackness and ghostly silent. When he had swum as far as he possibly could, he carefully surfaced, filling his desperate lungs as silently as he could. The craving in his chest slowly eased as he took longer and more deliberate breaths—yet the noise of each still seemed deafeningly loud. He kept his mouth barely out of the water and scanned the banks for the men. They were standing a bit further back, illuminated in the pale moonlight, searching for him near where he fell. Samuel carefully back-paddled away from them, keeping close to the bank where his feet could just touch the bottom. Every trickle and every tiny sound he made carried easily across the water, but somehow the men still did not look towards him.

  ‘Ah, damn him!’ he heard one man finally say, his frosty breath forming a cloud before him. ‘It’s too cold and it’s as black as sin out here. I can’t see anything and I’m not getting wet on a night like this for some brat. Let’s just tell the boss we gave him the test and he failed. That will keep him happy. What’s one more dead kid?’ The other nodded and they were gone—vanishing abruptly into the trees.

  Samuel stayed in the river for a long time, numbed and shivering. At first, he was too terrified to move, but after a time he realised if he stayed where he was, he would probably freeze to death. He waded along until he recognised the flattening in the bank with the dark shape of the swing rope hanging over it. He dragged his heavy legs onto the river’s edge and realised he was almost paralysed with cold. His body was so cold it burned like fire. Hugging his arms around him, he hauled himself from the river and hurried as well as he could up the rough, winding path towards the faint light of Tom’s house.

  He banged on the door with his trembling fist again and again until, after what seemed like an age, it opened in before him. Tom’s father was there looking down at him with obvious surprise, still chewing on a mouthful of his dinner.

  ‘What’s this?’ he began, and then Tom’s mother appeared beside him, opening the door wide.

  ‘Oh, you poor thing!’ she said and pulled him in, pushing her dumbfounded husband aside.

  Tom was sitting at the table with his dinner in front of him; his fork hovered by his mouth with a bite of meat still on it. Tom’s mother stood Samuel by the stove place and began to drag his wet shirt off. Samuel was still too shocked to speak and he let her move him around like a cloth doll.

  ‘Now get out of those wet things and dry off before you catch a cold,’ she instructed.

  With that, Samuel began to cry. His teeth chattered between great sobs and he started shaking and shivering uncontrollably.

  ‘Oh, what is it, Samuel?’ Tom’s mother asked. ‘Not too close or you will burn yourself, dear. Here.’ And she put a thick rug around his naked, shivering body.

  Tom’s father was looking out the window with concern. He dropped the bar across the door and continued to eye the darkness outside.

  ‘Some...bad men,’ Samuel began. ‘Some...bad...men,’ he stuttered, but could not manage to push out the words.

  Tom’s mother’s brow knitted with worry. ‘Shh,’ she said, hushing him. ‘Take your time.’

  Samuel swallowed hard—it hurt—and he tried to speak more clearly. ‘Bad men came and hit everyone. They hit Father down and hit Mother. They hurt everyone and I fell in the river.’

  ‘These bad men, they hurt your mother and father?’ Tom’s mother asked carefully.

  Samuel nodded, feeling a surge of tears come pouring down his face. Tom’s mother turned and looked to her husband, who fetched up a long-handled poker from by the fireplace and began to put on his coat.

  ‘I’ll go get Owen and his lads and we’ll go have a look,’ he said and strode out into the cold night, plucking up his hat on the way.

  Tom’s mother barred the door behind him, and then looked out the window for long minutes before returning to the stove. ‘Here, Samuel,’ she said, grasping a ladle and scooping some steaming stew into a bowl. ‘Get something hot into you. Tom’s father will see to everything.’ Her words sounded comforting, but her face was pale as she glanced towards the door.

  Samuel sat up on the bench next to Tom with the rug pulled tightly around him, and gingerly pushed a few chunks of potato into his mouth, chewing upon the soft, warm pieces. Tom opened his mouth to speak, but a firmly raised finger and a stern look from his mother kept him quiet. She sat looking out the window until quite late while Tom and Samuel watched the fire embers burn low. Samuel had faint memories of being lifted from the table and being laid onto a soft, warm bed. His dreams that night were at first alarming, with a tall and vile man standing in the doorway, grinning in at him, but eventually such disturbing visions gave way to a deep and thoughtless slumber.

  The sounds of stomping boots woke Samuel early the next morning. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, surprised to find himself in Tom’s bed. He hopped up and pulled on some of Tom’s clothes that were laid out nearby, and then hurried out into the main room. Tom’s father was just hanging his hat beside the door.

  ‘Morning, Samuel,’ he said soberly as he removed his long coat and hung that up as well. It was covered with a patina of dew.

  Tom’s mother came from her room in a long, warm gown. She had on thick woollen slippers that made no sound as she moved about, unlike her husband with his great noisy steps. Her hair was knotted and all over her face, just like Samuel’s mother when she first woke up. A glance though the doorway showed Tom still asleep in his mother’s bed.

  ‘Well?’ she asked.

  Tom’s father could not help but show some worry on his face, and ushered his wife back into their room.

  ‘Stay there, Samuel,’ she instructed as she shut the door behind them and they began talking in hushed voices that Samuel could not hear.

  A short time later, Tom’s father reappeared and, after again donning his outdoor wear, he went outside and was shortly riding away on one of his horses. Tom’s mother came from their bedroom and she called Samuel to sit by her at the table. Her eyes were lined red, as if she had been crying and she held a handkerchief balled tightly in one hand.

  ‘Tom’s father went to see what happened. He and Mr Cooper and his lads all rode over last night.’ Her voice took a softer tone. ‘Your house was on fire when they reached there and they couldn’t find any trace of your family. Many bad things happened last night, Samuel—terrible things. The fire at your house was too big to do anything about. It’s burned down somewhat by now, so they will have a look inside when they can. Hopefully, everyone managed to get out in time. We’ll see. I’m sure everything will be all right.’

  Samuel began to sniff and his eyes felt hot as he tried to hold back his tears. Tom’s mother took hold of him and pulled him tightly to her bosom.

  ‘Now, now,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t cry, Samuel. Everything will be all right.’

  ‘What about Aaron?’ Samuel asked between heaving sobs. ‘Did the barn catch fire, too?’

  ‘No, Samuel,’ Tom’s mother answered. ‘Aaron is all right. The barn didn’t catch fire. We’ll take care of him.’

  Tom came out of his mother’s room, looking sleepy-eyed, and hopped up at the table opposite them. He spied Samuel crying, but not knowing what else to do, Tom cut himself some bread and began to have his breakfast.

  Samuel was kept busy over the next few days with chores and duties at Tom’s parents’ house, even learning how to do a little basket weaving. These days seemed strange and distant, as if at any moment Mother would come to fetch him and he would go back home to find his family waiting there. He kept asking about them, but Tom’s mother only said that no one had found them yet. It was after a few more days again that Tom’s mother finally sat Samuel down, having sent Tom outside to play, and be
gan to talk with him softly.

  ‘I’m afraid your mother and father won’t be coming back, Samuel,’ she told him. ‘Nor will your brothers or sister.’

  ‘Where are they?’ Samuel asked.

  Tom’s mother’s eyes were all shiny and watery. ‘I’m afraid they were in the house when it burned, Samuel,’ she said.

  Samuel nodded, looking blankly at her and not knowing what to say.

  ‘We’ve told your aunt and uncle in Stable Canthem about it and they’re going to send for you in a few days. You can stay with them for a while. How does that sound?’

  ‘Will I be able to come back?’ Samuel asked.

  ‘Of course, darling,’ Tom’s mother replied, ‘but I’m not sure just when. That will be up to your aunt and uncle. I’m sure you’ll have a fine time there. They own an inn, so you can help them out a bit and have lots of new friends there in such a big town.’

  Samuel did not know what to say, and so merely sat in silence until Tom’s mother left him be.

  Four soldiers came knocking at the door later that day and Tom’s parents asked them in. The soldiers looked untidy and smelled like horses and wet leather. They had scruffy beards and kept eyeing Samuel suspiciously.

  ‘Seen or heard anything new?’ the sergeant asked.

  ‘No,’ Tom’s father replied. ‘Not a word. Everyone’s a little worried now; staying in their homes and such.’

  The sergeant nodded. ‘That’s understandable. What are you going to do with the boy?’ he asked.

  Tom’s father looked to his wife. ‘We’re sending him to the city,’ he replied, ‘so his family can look after him.’

  The sergeant nodded again.

  ‘What have you found, Sergeant? Any news of the culprits?’ Tom’s mother asked anxiously.

  The man sucked at his top lip and scratched his nose before answering. ‘Nothing. If there’s not enough trouble here already, there’ve also been some killings in Cotter’s Bend. My men are spread so thin, I don’t even know where half of them are any more. I’ve sent word to Haywood for more men. These pox-ridden curs will show up eventually, and then we’ll hang ’em good and proper.’ With that, the sergeant stood and made for the door. ‘For now, keep your door barred at night.’

  Tom’s father closed the door behind the sergeant and his men. He looked to his wife with mixed anger and despair. ‘You and your damned friends, Woman!’ He opened the door again and slammed it behind him as he stormed outside.

  Tom’s mother came by Samuel’s side and squatted beside him, at eye level. She held both his hands in hers. ‘Don’t worry, Samuel,’ she said earnestly. ‘They’ll soon catch those men and punish them. Everything will be all right.’

  Samuel nodded dumbly. His world felt strange and numb—as if from the moment he had fallen into the river, all warmth had been clawed from his marrow and dragged away into its depths and its own icy touch had leached into his bones. No clothes or fire or bedding could warm him and he felt that his life had been reduced to a tiny, trembling thread.

  It was well over a week before a stranger appeared atop a wreck of a wagon, asking after Samuel. Tom’s mother went out to speak with him and when she looked back towards the house, Samuel knew it was time to leave. Tom’s mother rushed back in, while the grey-haired old man remained on his wagon and she quickly stuffed a few things into a tiny bag for Samuel.

  ‘Now you be good for your uncle and aunt,’ she instructed as she rushed about. ‘And if you get into any trouble, you just send word to us.’

  Samuel nodded dumbly as she finished packing his bag and pulled him outside. He was lifted up and hoisted onto the wagon and Tom’s mother smacked his cheek with a wet kiss, pushing his bag onto his lap.

  ‘Farewell, good lady,’ the old man croaked with a wave of his arm and the wagon lurched forwards, drawn by an animal that looked at least equal in age to its owner.

  ‘Farewell, Samuel!’ Tom’s mother called out. ‘I’ll say goodbye to Tom for you!’

  Samuel kept watch of her over his shoulder until the roadside branches obscured her from view. He wished he could jump down from the wagon and run back through the woods to his home, but something inside Samuel told him he was powerless to move. He would have to cling to the wagon like a bug on a leaf and just hope it led him to somewhere better.

  Samuel turned to face forwards, still clutching his bag in his lap, and found the wiry old man looking him in the eye.

  ‘Better make yourself comfortable, boy,’ he said. ‘It’s a fair way to Stable Canthem and a bumpy road, to be sure. If you keep sitting like that you’ll have blisters on your arse before we round the next bend.’

  An odour wafted from the old man, a stale smell like a wet sack left in the corner of the barn for far too long. Samuel’s heart beat strongly in his chest; the old man was strange and scary and his healthy glow was thin and yellowed. Samuel edged away from the old man as much as he could and pushed his bag down beside him, wedging it into a corner so it would not shake free.

  The village was only a short way ahead, but instead of crossing the bridge towards it, the wagon turned aside and began down the busy road that led to the Great Highway. It was only a few minutes before Samuel was passing ground he had never before stood upon or played upon. His heart was full of uncertainty. He could not help the feeling that tomorrow he would return home and his family would be there, as they ever were, waiting for him. Surely, all this was just some kind of dream and he would eventually wake up in his own comfortable bed. Yet, the wagon continued to crawl along the highway, being passed in both directions by other wagons and people on horseback and sometimes even by people on foot, and Samuel had no idea where he was going, nor what the future would bring.

  CHAPTER TWO

  What the Future Would Bring

  SAMUEL SOON BECAME used to the smell of the old man, who barely said a word the entire time, unless to point out some obscure landmark or announce it was time to stop and have a rest. Then they would lurch to a halt and sit by the roadside while the old man wandered around his wagon and tapped various parts of it with his smoking pipe, as if trying to discern whether or not it would soon fall apart. After a while, he would say ‘Let’s be off, lad,’ and they would crawl back up onto their seats and begin away once more.

  Samuel did not know why they had to stop and rest at all, for all they were doing was sitting on their behinds while the old horse pulled them along. Most of the time, the old man did not even have hold of the reins, as the old fleabag seemed to know the way by itself. Perhaps the rest was for the horse then? It looked every bit as haggard as the old man and smelled almost as bad. The poor animal stared straight ahead all the time, even when there was no pulling to be done. Its eyes were watery and seemed dull and lifeless. Its healthy shine was faded and yellowed, much like the old man’s. Samuel felt sorry for them both.

  When it began to grow dark, they slept on the roadside and ate sinewy meat that the old man boiled up in his dented, blackened pots. At first light, they would simply get up and get back on the wagon and be off again.

  They passed through several villages that reminded Samuel of home in one way or another. Men loaded and unloaded wagons with fruits or vegetables or bags of grain. Women carried basketfuls or armfuls of produce. They gave Samuel and the old man barely a moment’s attention as the two of them passed slowly by atop their rickety wagon. Occasionally, a few soldiers would overtake them on horseback with their blue and gold armour glistening, their swords swinging by their sides and Samuel thought they looked quite impressive. The old man would curse and mutter as they passed and Samuel supposed he did not like them very much at all.

  The only thing that never changed was that they were always heading down. Their wagon zigzagged down hill and gully, along paths and across shallow riverbeds and hour after hour the mountains crawled away from them until the various hills they descended obscured the snowy peaks altogether. With the familiar heights now gone, too, Samuel was only just starting to realise
how much his world had changed.

  After several days, they reached the edge of a village that just seemed to keep getting bigger and bigger, until Samuel finally realised that this must be the town of Stable Canthem, for it was much larger than anything he could imagine. Buildings rose several levels high and were made from blocks of stone, with many bearing motifs and carvings upon their walls. People seemed to come from every direction, filling the many streets that crossed and joined. It was a very busy place, indeed, and more streets and buildings lay all around in every direction as far as Samuel could see.

  After voyaging deep into the town, turning many corners and crossing many streets, the wagon abruptly halted in front of a tall building.

  ‘Here you are,’ the old man said, still holding the reins and sucking on his pipe. ‘You go on inside now.’

  Samuel grabbed his bag and leapt to the ground. The wagon started off again without another word and the old man and wagon both were immediately swallowed up by the throngs of people. Samuel looked about whilst standing nervously in front of the tall building, watching as the people and animals and vehicles passed by making all manner of noises. When nothing else happened after a time, and the busy street continued to flow past him, Samuel turned about and faced the building he had been set before, with his bag clutched firmly in his hands, and swallowed.

  He was eyeing its wide door with great apprehension and wondering whether or not he should knock, when it opened and a girl of about his own age stood looking out at him. The first thing Samuel could remember thinking was that she had a fine glow, indeed.

  She looked a little surprised at first and stood waiting for him to say something, until realisation crossed her face. ‘Oh, you must be Samuel,’ she said and smiled. ‘I am Jessicah. I’m very pleased to meet you.’