He realised he was getting nowhere when, finally, he had to stop because his legs were burning and his lungs were heaving desperately for air. He could continue no further and cursed the sheep again as he bent over with his hands on his knees, struggling for breath. The sheep bleated as it trotted over to its companions and rejoined them at their munching.
Samuel collapsed atop the grass and tried to think of an intelligent alternative. Any spell he could think of would only panic them further and who knows where they would run—certainly not in any direction he wanted. He contemplated lifting them all up and floating them down into the valley, but that would probably scare them to death and he could only manage one such heavy animal at a time. Finally, he climbed back up to Simpson to gain advice.
‘Won’t do chasing them,’ the old man stated simply, ‘unless there’s a few of you,’ he added with a shrug. ‘They’re dumb animals, but they know how to be stubborn, sure enough. Gotta let them know who’s in charge.’
‘How do I do that?’ Samuel panted.
‘Don’t know. Never done it,’ Simpson explained with a grin, blowing smoke through his lips. ‘The other farmers have a dog or two to help them round up their stock, but I’ve never been fond of dogs. Besides, we couldn’t afford to keep one—they eat too much.’
‘You could let it eat those sheep and solve two problems at once.’
‘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, ‘Damn it!’ 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.
&nbs
p; 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 tiptoe off into their room.
Before he knew it, Samuel realised he had been with the Downs for a week. Old Simpson’s leg was well on the mend, but somehow Samuel could not bring himself to leave, for it seemed every day was a struggle for them and, despite the fact that he was run ragged from dawn until dusk, he seemed to be strangely enjoying it.
That morning, Mrs Down presented Samuel with a new shirt, vest and trousers, made in the local style. He put them straight on, and Mr and Mrs Down nodded at him with approval, declaring that he looked almost like one of the locals.
Before Simpson had finished the milking that cold morning, Samuel had Jess hitched to the cart, leaving the old donkey looking at them curiously from beside the house.
‘He’ll be glad,’ Samuel mentioned as Simpson took notice. ‘He’s looking fairly long in the tooth and I’m sure he’ll appreciate the rest.’
‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing here?’ the old man asked from his milking, floppy pink teats in hand.
‘No,’ Samuel admitted. ‘But hopefully I’ll learn.’
From then on, Jess drew the cart and Samuel leapt down to deliver the milk, collecting the money for Simpson and lifting the buckets of vegetable scraps up into the back. At first he was bewildered by the strange square coins they used, but he soon caught on to their irregular monetary system. The customers were all surprised to see Samuel doing all the work, but he was happy to do it. Simpson’s leg was still hampering him somewhat, and it always took the old farmer a few wobbly efforts to climb back up onto the cart. He seemed much more at ease holding the reins and smoking his old pipe and the work was more suited to a young man.
During the afternoons, they would sit idly and watch the animals graze. It had not rained since Samuel arrived, and he could see the grass thinning by the day. In response to Samuel commenting on this, Simpson said he would herd the animals to the north side of the hill for winter, while this side would recover and grow fresh again. There were no fences on the farm, and if ever an animal did stray, a neighbour would soon have it back again, thankful for an excuse to visit and have a hot cup of tanabil leaf tea. There were buckets and troughs to mend and Samuel set himself doing all these little chores on the farm that looked as though they had been waiting decades for attention. He even built a roof to go over Jess and the donkey and began plans for expanding the house, all with Simpson’s technical assistance. He did not have much skill at such practical things, but he learned a great deal from experimenting and referring to Simpson’s wealth of experience. His magic was invaluable in helping him carry all his tools and construction materials. He could shift sand and cart wood with a gesture, doing the work of many men on his own.
During the evenings, Samuel would help Mrs Down with meals and do some sewing himself with Simpson occasionally stepping out to see that no dogs were at his stock. Meals were simple. Occasionally, Simpson could buy some meat from a neighbour and they would eat a little better. Late at night, when he had done all he could for the Downs, Samuel would find a secluded spot and practise his spells by moonlight. He remembered Soddan’s advice and spent long hours in meditation, focussing upon his inner ability. At times, he wished he had someone more experienced to learn from and discuss the ways of magic with, for there was a part of him that was uncomfortable in the company of common folk. Having spent so long in only the presence of other magicians, common people sometimes seemed very simple. Separated from the Order, however, Samuel had little to do but reflect upon himself, hoping to discover new ways to improve his thoughts and spells. He practised all the summoning stances, power words of the Old Tongue and the hand-matrices, feeling the ever-growing intensity of energy he could muster. It seemed that every day, he was just a little stronger than before.
As he sat high on the hill in the twilight, Samuel supposed it was not an unpleasant life, here on the edge of the Empire. He felt as if fate or some powerful force was always keeping him moving. As soon as he felt comfortable in one place, something would happen and he would have no choice but to gather up his things and move on to somewhere else. He always felt more comfortable in the place from whence he had just come and the new place felt awkward, until, as usual, it was time to leave, and only then did he realise that place was the one for him. Here, on the outskirts of the village of Lenham, he felt further from his friends and his home than he had ever been. He was beginning to think he would never be able to put his feet up and just relax. Even now, he was supposed to continue on his way to Gilgarry and meet the man, Cervantes. When Simpson had recovered and the Downs could manage their farm comfortably again, Samuel would go on his way, but he found himself hoping that day would not come too soon.
Samuel’s big problem was those ever-hungry sheep. Discouraging them was proving to be his bane. Some days whole flocks would come up and chew the ground bare before Samuel would chase them for a bit, become tired and frustrated and then scare them away with a great boom that would echo all up and down the valleys. He would then have to muster up all of Simpson’s animals before they fled too far, cursing himself for his impatience.
One fine and hot day, Samuel finally sat himself amongst the villainous sheep and decided to try and solve the problem for good. He positioned himself on the grass, facing one docile creature as it munched away and he began to concentrate upon it. Its aura was simple, yet in some ways similar to that found around men. He knew all living things were filled with energy, but he had never thought that animals would be at all like people. He wanted to find out more, and so he willed his senses further into the sheep. Surprisingly, it was quite easy and he immediately met with visions of grass. The image filled his mind, as if he was seeing out of the sheep’s own eyes. Startled, he suddenly found himself separate from the animal once again.
Intrigued, Samuel began to investigate once more. It was like being inside the sheep’s mind, and he could see a strange image of himself, warped and distorted, sitting in the sheep’s head. Ghostly feelings of hunger and fear faded in and out. It was as if he had tapped into some part of the sheep’s consciousness, or was experiencing its very thoughts.
It was an amazing discovery and one that made Samuel wonder why there had been little mention of such a possibility from his teachers. It had not seemed difficult at all. Perhaps it was a dangerous thing for a magician to do? He would use caution and experiment further. He formed the image of a savage snarling wolf and concentrated on it, pushing it in beside the feeling of hunger he could feel inside the sheep. There was a jolt as the sheep suddenly panicked and broke away, blea
ting and galloping down the hill. Samuel was himself shivering with fear, before he could regain control over his confused mind. His heart was racing. Vague images of tearing meat and blood-spattered wool lingered in his head. Somehow, the strange alien memories had managed to pass from the sheep to him.
His attempts at fooling the sheep with complex illusions had proved useless, but this simple vision, pressed into the animal’s mind, caused such a stir in its memories that it had scared the creature silly. Perhaps such simple creatures relied on more than their mere sight to judge the world around them. Memories of a previous attack brought back all the senses—the smell, the sight, the terrible sounds and the taste of fear. These combined to confuse the animal completely. The distinction between past and present had blurred and it ran in senseless confusion.
The other sheep lifted their heads and sniffed the air, before returning to their constant feeding. They could not sense what had so frightened their fellow and did not know what had caused its fearful bleating, so they continued on with their munching of grass. Samuel planned to quickly remedy that.
He crawled towards the next closest sheep. Upon examination, the first thing Samuel noticed was that its mind was strangely similar to the other’s. Perhaps, it was true that sheep were too stupid to vary much from each other. In this animal, he implanted different images, of fruits and grains. The sheep searched the ground, sniffing and hanging out its tongue, trying to find the delicious food, but to no avail. He tried other images, but the response was usually the same, with the sheep merely looking for the object or becoming confused before returning to its meal. Samuel again formed the image of a wolf, yet this time tried to alter the location of the beast, so that it seemed to be high up on the hilltop rather than nearby. The sheep raised its head and baaed. It turned and waddled a few paces away, turning its head and baaing again. The others raised their noses for only a moment while it hurried away down the hill. This had proved the most successful method yet for getting rid of the stubborn beasts, for the animal was not scared almost to death.
The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) Page 36