The Wilder (The Trouble with Magic Book 1)

by Beach, B. J.

  He swallowed hard and swiped the back of his hand across his eyes. “Our little cottage burnt to the ground in less than an hour.”

  Symon stretched forward and tossed another log on the fire. “So, you’ve been on the streets ever since you were, how old?”

  Grub shook his head. “No, not then. My auntie came and found me sitting on the side of the road later that night, and took me home with her. I lived there with her and my cousin Marcus ‘til I was about nine or so.”

  His shoulders slumped and his head drooped. He began picking again at the loose thread.

  His voice dropped to little more than a whisper. “Then it happened again.”

  Symon raised a concerned eyebrow. “Another fire?”

  “No, thank D’ta. But there was an awful lot of damage. Nearly every dish, plate and pot she had was cracked or broken into pieces.”

  Lifting his head a little, Grub regarded Symon from under thick dark eyebrows. “It wasn’t the first time, but it was the worst. Auntie just sat at the kitchen table and cried. I tried to clean up the mess, but she…” His voice cracked again. “She pointed to the door, said she’d had enough and told me to get out. So I did. I stood outside in the yard for a while, then she came out and I thought she was going to tell me to come back in, but she didn’t. She just threw a canvas bag full of stuff at my feet and told me to clear off.”

  As if relieved of a burden, Grub blew out a long breath. Leaning back in his chair, he studied his scuffed toes. “I’ve been with the street-boys for nearly six years.”

  His shoulders seemed to straighten a little, and he gave Symon a twisted sort of smile. “If anything happens to Big Tyke, I’ll be their leader, and my mate Legs will be my second.”

  He took a breath to say something else, but a sudden thought stopped him and set him off gazing once more into the fire. Leaving him to his thoughts, Symon cleared the table and went into his little kitchen to wash the dishes.

  He came back to find Grub standing by the window again, his hands stuffed in his trouser pockets, gazing out towards the distant lights of the city.

  The boy spoke without turning. “There’s not much chance of me leaving here very soon, is there?”

  Symon crossed the room to stand beside him. “Afraid not. You and I have a lot to do before you set foot on Vellethen’s streets again. And you haven’t told me yet, what happened to land you in the city gaol.”

  Grub’s expression tightened, but he didn’t answer, and for a while, the two shared silent contemplation of the city’s lights.

  Growing a little impatient at the boy’s untimely reticence, Symon broke the silence. “You lost it again didn’t you?”

  Grub flopped down onto the window seat, and tucked his hands under his armpits, his face sullen. “I don’t even remember properly what happened.”

  Symon released a long, low sigh and sat down beside him. “Perhaps you’d rather leave it for now.”

  Hunching his shoulders, Grub studied the floor in front of his feet for a long moment. “No. The sooner you know, the better.” He frowned. “The thing I don’t understand is why. We, our little gang, that is, we used to go to Great Market most days. They were used to us there. We’d help folks with heavy things, and sweep behind the stalls, and carry stuff. They’d give us fruit mostly, but sometimes we’d get a stale pie or some bread.”

  He looked up and gave Symon a lopsided grin, his eyes shining. “Sometimes, ‘specially holidays, a coin or two came our way. But we never pinched anything. That was our rule.”

  Symon returned the smile. “So, what set you off?”

  The boy’s expression darkened. “This bloke had a hold of my mate Legs and was shaking him summat rotten. Bawling out that Legs had stole a pie. I could see Legs was hurting. There was blood on his face, and he was white as a sheet.”

  He paused and squeezed his eyes tight. “I yelled something, I dunno what, and went for the bloke. Next thing I remember, I was being dragged up off the floor by a couple of City Guards and…there was…it was…like my auntie’s house. Everything for yards around was smashed in little pieces. There was no sign of Legs.”

  Taking a deep breath, Grub clenched his hands against his knees. “I got hauled off to the lock-up. They gave me a thrashing, kept calling me a ‘bloody wilder’ then chained me to the wall, with nothing to eat or drink.”

  He shuddered, and cleared his throat. “A long time after, a guard came in with a great snarling dog on a leash. I thought he was going to set it on me.” His head drooped. “That’s when I…when I…er…messed myself.”

  He looked sidelong at Symon. “I got another beating for that.” He drew in a deep breath and leaned back. “You know the rest.”

  Clasping his hands, Symon tapped his chin with his forefingers. “This is a very complex situation you’ve got yourself, perhaps both of us, into. I need time to consider what’s best to be done.”

  The little magician closed his eyes and sat for a few moments in pensive silence, as he gently patted the palms of his hands together.

  Seeming to reach a decision he opened his eyes and looked hard at Grub, who had stood up and was gazing out of the window again. “I think the best thing now, is for you to go and get some rest. Settle down for the night. Don’t you?”

  Turning his head, Grub frowned down at Symon. “So, where am I going to sleep?”

  Symon gave him a little half smile, and nodded to a closed door near the far end of the room. “There’s a small spare room there that you can use when you’re ready. I keep the bed made up for unexpected guests. I think you’ll be comfortable.”

  Turning away from the window, Grub looked towards the room. “I’ll go now if that’s alright. I’m just about all in. I’ll go down and use the privy, then I’ll get my head down. It’s been a hard day.”

  Symon looked up from stoking the fire as Grub returned. Pausing with his hand on the bedroom door-knob, the boy gave him a wistful little smile. “I never said ‘Thank you’ Master Symon.”

  The little magician straightened up. “You’re welcome. By the way, you never did tell me your true name.”

  Grub shrugged as he opened the door. “It’s Karryl.”

  Slipping into the darkened room, he closed the door quietly behind him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Settled in his armchair by the fire, Symon lit his pipe, puffed and pondered. Hearing the boy’s name had started a little bell tinkling in the back of his brain. He listened for a while, then turned his mind to other matters.

  That Karryl was truly a wilder, Symon now had little doubt. Having become increasingly intrigued by this obviously smart and streetwise boy, Symon felt it was time for him to face this head on, to be helped to understand what had been happening to him, and why. Only then could Symon begin to help Grub to deal with it. He also found the prospect of trying to turn him into a competent magician rather challenging. The alternative, neutralising his wild magic powers, was no less so. Symon hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He also knew it would be vital to preserve the boy’s energy, and also to tolerate the natural tendencies to ignore warnings, that are so prevalent in youth. At the same time it would be necessary to instil a sense of the import of what he would be learning, along with the responsibility involved in acquiring that knowledge. Symon wondered whether Karryl had the mental stamina, or could acquire the personal discipline necessary to become a magician.

  Gazing into the glowing embers of the fire, he murmured to himself. “It’s not going to be easy.”

  A low, musical voice concurred from somewhere behind him. “I’m rather inclined to agree.”

  Symon smiled and turned as the delicate scent of spring blossoms wafted across the comfortable parlour. He looked fondly at the slender, silver-haired woman who sat on his window-seat. With almost ethereal grace, she stood and crossed the room, her pale blue robe rustling softly round her ankles.

  Amethyst eyes twinkled as she settled in the armchair opposite Symon. “I’m also certain that this
particular wilder has been very lucky, despite what he’s recently been forced to endure”

  Symon blew a perfect smoke ring towards the beamed ceiling. “Mmm. There are very few that survive to adulthood. In the majority of cases they’re unable to control the wild magic with which they are inexplicably endowed. Inevitably they then fall victim to the consequences of their lack of control.”

  His visitor clasped slender hands beneath her chin. “At least, the few there are no longer face the threat of being literally beaten to death by their peers in a frenzy of fear and misunderstanding.”

  Symon grimaced at a flash of old memory, then shook his head and chuckled. “The trouble was, those who managed to remain undetected eventually ended up blasting themselves to smithereens, or met equally gruesome endings when incompetence caused a badly managed spell to turn back on them.”

  She smiled. “At least now, things are different in Vellethen, thanks to you.”

  Symon gave a little self-conscious squirm and waggled a dismissive hand. “I doubt I’d have managed it so easily without you working some of your influence on the royal person.”

  A year or so after King Vailin II had ascended the throne, Symon had managed to persuade the young monarch to issue a decree. In essence it stated that any person deemed to be a wilder, should be apprehended and subsequently indentured as an apprentice under the care and tutelage of a qualified magician. There, they were to be taught to control their powers and use them wisely. The decree also gave the selected magician no option, a fact that tended to stick in Symon’s craw. His failure to plug that loophole in a law he himself had promulgated, had now returned to haunt him. As he currently had no apprentice, it meant that, being a resident of the City and district of Vellethen, any suspected wilder could end up on his doorstep.

  Symon had frequently given himself a mental kicking. On three previous occasions, he had been able to prove conclusively that the so-called ‘wilders’ foisted on him were nothing more than bad-tempered hooligans. Having given them very short shrift, he had them swiftly returned to the arms of the law. After each occasion he vowed he would set about taking an apprentice of his own choosing, and the City Guard would have to look elsewhere. Now, he was almost certain it was too late. Leaning forward he took up the poker and stirred the glowing coals.

  He sat back and grey eyes met amethyst as he gestured with his pipe stem towards the closed bedroom door. “So, do you think he has potential, or are his ‘wilder’ traits beyond recovery?”

  It was her turn to chuckle. “What are you hoping?” Her delicate features took on a more serious expression. “He does have potential. Enormous potential. I feel you will have to work very hard to keep him from getting ahead of himself.”

  Symon nodded, his broad brow furrowed. “I suspected as much. I could sense the wild power in him when he first arrived in that horrible cage.”

  Slowly she shook her head. “That was quite despicable and totally un-necessary. We can only hope that given time, the whole experience will fade without doing any lasting damage. We shall see.”

  With fluid grace she stood up from her chair. Folding her hands inside the wide sleeves of her robe, she smiled down at the little magician. “Says a nice little grace, doesn’t he? I appreciated that.”

  Raising one bushy white eyebrow, Symon gave a little nod of agreement. “I had a feeling you would.”

  She gave a musical little chuckle. “I’ll leave you in peace now, and I suggest you go and get some sleep. A whole new chapter of your life, and his, begins tomorrow.”

  Feigning innocence, Symon rested his chin on his hand. “Of course, your lot didn’t have anything to do with this, did you?”

  Her answer was a slight secretive smile. Crossing the room, she paused with her hand on the latch. “Give him a day or so to settle down before you begin his tuition. Find out what he’s made of, and be prepared for a few surprises. That’s the trouble with magic. It can sometimes prove quite unpredictable.”

  A knowing smile on his lips, Symon watched as she closed the door quietly behind her. He knew he wouldn’t hear her go down the stairs. Tapping out his pipe, he suddenly felt very sleepy. Placing the favourite old briar on the mantelpiece, he turned out all the lamps except one, and ambled off to bed.

  * * *

  It was the unaccustomed draught insinuating itself under his bedroom door which prompted Symon to rise almost an hour earlier than usual. Wriggling into dressing gown and sandals he shuffled into his sitting room. The door to the stairs stood slightly ajar, and Karryl’s bedroom door was also open. Hurrying to close the door against the chilly air spiralling up the stair-case, Symon patted his palms together, then scuttled back into his bedroom to get dressed.

  Clothed in a warm, brown woollen robe suitable for the cooler days of early autumn, he tiptoed downstairs and peered around the open door. Newly risen, the sun’s soft rays fell on trees and shrubs, casting long shadows across the broad gravelled yard which curved around the front and one side of Symon’s tower. With grim satisfaction Symon surveyed the dense unbroken length of high beech hedge which bordered the yard. He doubted very much Karryl would have noticed it was not there yesterday. Retrieving a plain but well used wooden staff from behind the door, the little magician murmured as he closed it quietly behind him. Setting off down a narrow, lightly trodden path skirting the ancient well, he headed into the woodland beyond. Although there was no sign of Karryl, Symon knew he would come to no harm. He would have bet his tower on it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Something tickled Karryl’s cheek. Swiping his hand over his face, he opened one eye. The other quickly followed as what he was seeing registered on his brain. Its autumn foliage shimmering in the afternoon sun, a tall Silver Birch waved its slender branches above him, lightly showering him with honey gold leaves. Quickly he sat up, then groaned as his bruised back and shoulders prompted a painful reminder of recent events. Scrambling to his feet, he brushed leaves from his jerkin, then massaged his behind where a small branch he had been lying on had dug in. He rubbed his eyes and looked about him, not that the sight which met his eyes was unfamiliar.

  Every nook, cranny, wall, shrub and tree was imprinted indelibly on his memory. For most of the morning he had wandered in the vicinity of the tower, striving in vain to find a path down into the city. Whichever path or opening he chose, he always ended up on the narrow, stony hard-packed path which led to the rear of the well. By mid-morning he had decided enough was enough. With no difficulty at all he had made his way to the door of the tower. It seemed to be locked. He frowned, knowing he had left it open.

  He called out. “Master Symon. Are you there?”

  The only things he heard were leaves rustling in the breeze, and the clamour of jackdaws on the roof high above him. He called out again and knocked hard on the door, but his efforts still brought no response. Determined to find a way down into the city, he turned away from the door. An idea had come to him. This time he would try going the opposite way round. He allowed himself a smirk of satisfaction as he set off. He felt certain that this time he would be successful.

  Time and again he tried, his frustration increasing by degrees as each carefully planned effort led him inevitably back to the well. He had even managed, after a struggle, to break through the hedge bordering the yard. He held some grave suspicions about that hedge, particularly when he rounded the end of it to find himself back on the path leading along the rear of the tower. There, a few yards ahead of him was…the well. Feeling helpless, hopeless and trapped, he had let down the wooden bucket. Drawing up some of the clear cold water, he let it trickle down his parched throat. A patch of warm sunlight bathing the moss at the base of a tall birch tree had invited him to rest for a while. Easing himself down he had wedged his heels against a protruding root, wriggled himself comfortable, and had soon drifted off to sleep.

  Now he felt hungry, and he could tell by the sun that the day was wearing on. He hurried round to the door of the tower, only to fi
nd to his dismay that it was still locked. A dozen butterflies played tag in his stomach while he stood gazing up at the imposing bulk of the square tower. With its grey tiled pyramidal roof catching the late afternoon light, the ancient square tower stood silent and solitary. Bounded on two sides by a small woodland area, it seemed like a brooding sentinel surrounded by arboreal guardians. Each one a proud and mature specimen, they were still dwarfed by a great, heavy-limbed veteran oak standing just a few paces away. Karryl’s skin prickled as foliage rustled in the early autumn breeze, red and gold leaves spiralling down to the gravelled path. Catching sight of an ornate brass bell-pull concealed inside a niche in the wall, he grasped it firmly and pulled. He could hear its metallic jangle far above, but its merry note gradually faded to be followed by a lengthy silence.

  He was about to grasp the bell-pull again when a cheery voice called from behind him. “Are you looking for me by any chance?”

  Startled, Karryl spun round. He had heard no sound of anyone’s approach, no crunch of gravel underfoot, but there looking up at him, his head tilted to one side like a bird eyeing a worm, stood Symon. Having just returned from the palace where he had successfully persuaded a family of mice they would be much more comfortable and better fed in the cellars rather than in the royal apartments, Symon had arrived quietly back at his tower by a means that was far from conventional.

  The magician chuckled. “I didn’t mean to make you jump. I’m afraid it’s a bad habit I have, creeping up on people. It comes of being insatiably curious I suppose. I find out all sorts of things if people don’t know I’m there.”

  He gave Karryl a mischievous grin, and the boy couldn’t help but smile. However, the smile soon faded to be replaced by a disgruntled frown as he glared accusingly at Symon. “I s’pose you know I’ve spent nearly all day wandering round this place?”

  The little magician’s grey eyes twinkled as his grin widened. “Magic’s a marvellous thing when it’s used properly.” He raised an eyebrow. “I trust you enjoyed your afternoon nap.”