The Squire and the Acolyte - 1. Fables

The Senior Cleric had called Cameron aside after Compline. Now the boy sat stiffly in the senior’s library. An acolyte brought tea and Cameron nervously took a sip. The senior set his mug on the table, and looked at Cameron. “Please tell me the story of The Bully and the Boy.”

 

Cameron was startled at the request, but gathered his thoughts quickly. Easily maintaining the singsong cadence of traditional storytellers, Cameron related the tale.

 

The Bully and the Boy

 

A bully, swaggering down a village street, met a boy who had strayed from his companions. For his own amusement, the bully resolved not to thrash the boy unless he could find some reason to do so. He therefore spoke to the boy, “Boy, when last we met you called me a coward.”

 

“Oh, no,” the boy replied, “for I have never seen you before.”

 

“In that case,” the bully said, “you stole a penny from me.”

 

“Oh, no,” the boy replied, turning out his pockets, “for as you can see, I have no money at all.”

 

“Then you must have thrown a clod of dirt at me when my back was turned,” said the bully.

 

“Oh, no,” protested the boy, holding out his hands, “for as you can see, my hands are clean.”

 

Whereupon the bully seized the boy and beat him soundly, saying, “You shall be punished, then, for three times calling me a liar.”

 

*****

 

“The moral,” Cameron concluded, “is that a tyrant will always find a pretext for his tyranny.”

 

“Now,” the senior instructed, “tell me the same story in Old Elvish.”

 

Cameron’s stomach knotted. Nevertheless, he began the story, stumbling occasionally over the words. He was flushed with embarrassment when he finally finished.

 

After a moment, the senior spoke, “Your mind is not on your lessons. Go to bed now, but find me after breakfast tomorrow.”

 

Seeing the look on the boy’s face, the senior added, “You will not find me to be a tyrant, Cameron.”

 

*****

 

Cameron walked slowly back to the boys’ barracks. At this late hour, the hallway was dark. The other boys had chosen companions or solitude for the night; the doors to their rooms were closed. Cameron walked carefully down the hallway, counting the doorways by touch. Wait, he thought, there’s a light. But that room is unoccupied. Who can it be? The boy walked past his own room. Through a narrowly opened door, dim lamplight painted a flickering stripe on the floor.

 

Pausing, Cameron peered in to see a boy he did not know, sitting on the edge of the bed. The boy was clothed in tunic and trousers. Saddlebags and a pack lay at his feet. Cameron raised his hand to knock at the door just as the boy heaved a great sigh, and bent to pick up the pack. Cameron’s knock sounded preternaturally loud in the silence that followed.

 

The boy jumped, dropped his pack, and drew a dagger that spun golden shards of light. Cameron raised his hands to cast a spell for protection, but the boy lowered his dagger. “I’m sorry,” the boy said. “I’ve been too long on the road. I know I’m safe here. Please, whoever you are, please come in.”

 

Cameron edged through the door, leaving it open behind him. “I’m sorry if I startled you,” he began. “I saw light where there should not be light—” His voice trailed off.

 

The boy stood, but did not approach Cameron. “My mother’s name for me is Eric,” he said. “I arrived during Compline. The butler told me this would be my room. He said that someone would come…are you he?”

 

Cameron replied, “My mother’s name for me is Cameron. No, I was not sent, just late returning from Compline. Have you had supper? Have you bathed? I could show you…if you want…?” The question inherent in the boy’s offer was obvious from the rising inflection of his voice.

 

“Yes, thank you,” replied Eric. “It’s been an hour, and no one has come. I was preparing for sleep on an empty stomach. And, I’ve not bathed except in cold streams for three days.”

 

The boy added, “Is the bath hot?”

 

“Not at this hour,” Cameron replied, “but I will warm it for you. Bath or food, first?”

 

“Supper, please,” Eric said.

 

The kitchen was empty. The yeasty smell of tomorrow morning’s bread rising in the last warmth of the ovens sharpened Eric’s hunger. Cameron found flat bread and cheese while Eric sliced an apple. Eric did not seem disposed to talk while he was eating.

 

Afterwards, in the bath, Cameron carefully wove a conduit of magical energy. Through it, he directed heat from the white marble walls to the waters of the bath. His efforts were successful. The slight sound he created was muffled in the gentle susurrus of magic that pervaded the castle. A hoar gathered on the walls, and the water of the bath began to steam.

 

“Thank you,” Eric said as he padded across the floor and lowered himself into the large hot soak. “I’ve been looking forward to a hot bath.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and then continued. “You must have studied magic for a long time to be able to do that.”

 

Cameron blushed slightly, unseen in the dim light. He sat on a bench beside the soak. “Not really, I’m just an acolyte. It’s just, well, just something I do…”

 

“Acolyte? I thought this was the barracks of the pages and squires,” Eric sat up abruptly, splashing water onto the floor. “No wonder whoever was supposed to find me didn’t.”

 

“Oh, no,” Cameron said. “Pages and squires, probationers and acolytes, apprentice mages and journeymen…all the boys and tweens live in these barracks. Are you a squire, then?”

 

Eric sank back into the tub. “As a boy, I was a page. When I became a tween, just a month ago, I was made squire and sent here. Are you to be a cleric?”

 

“Perhaps,” Cameron replied. “I’ve not taken permanent vows… Soon I’ll have to decide if I want to continue…if they want me. I just don’t know…” His voice trailed off.

 

Eric’s skin glowed with a healthy, rosy hue as he stepped from the soak. He ran his hands down his chest as if to wipe off the water, then frowned and took a towel from a nearby stack. “I haven’t shared boy magic in several days,” he explained. “There were no boys on the caravan, except two tweens who were heart-bound. They shared a few times, but I could tell they didn’t enjoy it as much as they enjoyed each other. I didn’t ask too often...”

 

Cameron hesitated, unsure if Eric meant his words to be encouragement, but then asked, “Would you share with me? At least,” he added with a smile, remembering the pile of bed linen he’d seen on a chest in Eric’s room, “you’d not have to make your bed tonight.”

 

*****

 

Sex with Eric was both energetic and satisfying. Afterwards, however, Eric surprised Cameron. Rather than falling asleep like so many of the boys did, Eric held Cameron close while stroking his stomach, chest, and thighs until Cameron had a second erection. This time, Eric was slow and deliberate, bringing Cameron close to climax several times before taking the boy to a tremendous orgasm.

 

Cameron lay quivering and gasping. When he caught his breath, he kissed Eric and said, “That was…you are…so wonderful.”

 

*****

 

The sound of booted and sandaled feet on the stones of the hallway woke Cameron and Eric. “We’d better get up,” Cameron said. “They’ll not hold breakfast for us!”

 

“Which room is mine?” Eric asked as he fumbled his way from under the covers.

 

“Second on the right, on this side of the hallway,” Cameron said. “I’ll come there and lead you to breakfast, if you’d like.”

 

“Yes, please,” Eric said, bending to kiss the other boy. “And thank you for last night…for everything.”

 

Cameron’s thank you encountered only empty air as Eric ducked out the door.

 

Cameron tossed a robe over his head and belted it with a cord. He slid his feet into sandals and quickly laced them. He splashed a little water on his face and ran his hands through his hair and over his face. Looking in the mirror, he frowned. Despite the application of some of the boy magic he’d received from Eric, his hair gathered in curls, both large and small. Cameron sighed, and once again wished for more fashionable, straight hair. Once again, his wish was unfulfilled.

 

Eric had put on blue tights and a light tan tunic, belted with a reddish-brown belt. He was holding his sword in his hand when Cameron came to stand in the half-opened door. “No one wears a sword to meals,” he said, “except the soldiers.”

 

Eric nodded, and put the sword on the bed. “It will be safe here?” he asked, as he stuck his dagger through his belt.

 

“Yes,” Cameron said. “Now come on or there’ll be only pottage left!”

 

Despite Cameron’s encouragement, he and Eric were the last to enter the refectory. The sun streamed through high windows, lighting the large room. Four long tables ran parallel to one another. At one end and perpendicular to the long tables was a shorter table, elevated slightly on a dais. Seated at the shorter table were several men, clothed variously in robes, tunics, and tabards. All the men but two were elves. One human wore a tabard marked with centurion’s flashes; a dwarf wore the robes of a mage. At one of the long tables sat perhaps ten maniples of men wearing tabards in army colors. At a second table were forty or so men in clerical robes. A third table held men wearing mages’ robes. The last table—the most boisterous by far—was populated by more than a hundred boys and tweens in a hodge-podge of dress: the robes of mages and clerics, tabards, or simple tunics. Most of the people in the room were elves. In addition to the human and the dwarf at the dais, there were a five or six hands of humans scattered at other tables, and Eric thought he saw at least two more dwarves.

 

A buffet table at the end of the room opposite the dais held more than pottage. The table bore fruit, both fresh, and steaming in a cobbler; cheese; and hot, dark bread. Servants moved throughout the room with pitchers, filling cups and mugs. Following Cameron’s lead, Eric filled a trencher, and walked toward the end of the fourth table.

 

They had not yet reached their places when the seneschal entered the room. Catching sight of Eric, he beckoned to the boy. Eric put his trencher on the table next to Cameron, and hurried toward the seneschal.

 

The elf who sat at the center of the table on the dais stood. The seneschal had brought Eric to stand beside him. The room instantly quieted. The seneschal’s voice was soft, but carried to every corner of the room. “Know you all that last night arrived Eric of Barbicana, Squire-Dauphin. Greet him all of you in fealty and friendship according to your station, and as a comrade and companion in the service of the king.”

 

Cameron sat, stunned. Eric was a prince!

 

Everyone’s attention was on Eric as he was welcomed by the men at the dais. The seneschal, himself a count, and cousin to the king, introduced the men at the table. Eric’s head swam as he tried to keep everyone’s name and station in mind. The senior, who was head both of the palace temple and of the palace school was introduced only by title. The human centurion who had led a combined force of elves and humans at the Battle of Monmassant was in charge of the boys’ barracks. His superior, an elven general, was a distant cousin of Eric; Eric was glad to have one fewer new name to remember, and greeted the general with more than usual heartiness. The dwarven mage was pleasantly surprised to be greeted in his own language, and easily forgave the boy for mispronouncing his name. By that time, however, Eric had completely lost track.

 

With all the attention in the room focused on Eric, Cameron was sure he wouldn’t be seen. Leaving his breakfast on the table, he slipped out of the refectory. His sandaled feet whispered over the floor as he darted through one empty corridor after another, until he reached the herb garden. He crept behind the potting shed and through a hedge to a favorite spot: a small fountain, surrounded by weeds and stray herbs and flowers, quite forgotten behind the tall hedge. The boy sat on the edge of the fountain. A gesture of his hand stilled the water. Cameron gazed at his reflection. A prince! And I asked him to share boy magic. What must he think of me? Showoff that I am, I just had to heat the water for him. He’s the…what, eldest son of the Duke of Barbicana. He’s probably seen more magic than I’ve ever dreamed of. Since the king has no son, and Eric’s mother is the king’s sister, then Eric is heir presumptive. He’s a prince. Since the king keeps a military court, Eric would always wear a sword in public, but I told him not to. What an idiot he must think me.

 

Cameron gradually calmed, and began to think clearly. Why am I worried? He didn’t say he was a prince. He wasn’t wearing a crown or anything. He didn’t even say he was from Barbicana! How was I to know? Why do I care, then? I’ll not be punished for not knowing. At least, I don’t think I will.

 

The boy, who had not eaten his breakfast, pulled a few berries from a prickly bush, and chewed them slowly, savoring their astringent juice. I know why I care, he thought. I care because I’ve never felt so good sharing boy magic with anyone before. I care, because he took me seriously. He didn’t get all agog when I heated the water, but he did acknowledge that it was unusual. And he thanked me. His thanks were genuine, and not as if he were merely acknowledging something that was his due as a prince.

 

Cameron thought a while longer. I’m not sure that makes me feel any better, or not. Will he ever speak to me again? Will the senior ask me to leave the court? Oh! I forgot! The senior!

 

*****

 

Cameron stood nervously outside the door of the senior’s chambers. He had spent the morning in his secret garden, and it was now past sext. Cautiously he knocked on the door. The door swung open. The senior’s acolyte gestured Cameron to enter, and then closed the door.

 

“Come in, Cameron,” the senior invited. He was seated at a table on which were several large books. “Sit there, won’t you?”

 

Eric perched on the edge of the chair opposite the senior. “I’m late, Senior,” he began, only to be interrupted.

 

“Yes,” the senior said. “But I did say after breakfast, not immediately after breakfast, did I not?”

 

“Yes, Senior,” Cameron said, “but your intention was clear. I was, well…”

 

“You were excited to know that a prince was to become a fellow student,” the senior said. “Have you met him yet?”

 

When Cameron didn’t reply, the senior looked closely, and then asked, “What’s wrong, Cameron?”

 

Cameron explained how he had chanced to meet Eric the night before, concluding with, “I addressed him familiarly, and asked him to share. I…I’m afraid to return to the barracks. All the others will have heard, and I’ll be a laughing stock! You won’t make me leave the court, will you, senior?”

 

Before the senior could digest all that Cameron had said, the senior’s acolyte spoke. His deepening voice, a harbinger of adulthood, drew Cameron’s attention. “This explains, Master, why Squire Eric was asking for Cameron. I have the impression that Squire Eric’s identity was to have remained a secret, and that the seneschal dropped his cup. Squire Eric has been insistent that he’s a squire, and not to be treated as a prince.”

 

“Hmmm,” the senior mused. Turning to his acolyte, he asked, “Daniel, please find Squire Eric, and make him aware, without making a fuss over it, that Cameron is engaged in his studies, and will return to the barracks in due time. Also…well, you’ll keep your eyes and ears open, anyway.”

 

When Daniel had departed, the senior addressed Cameron. “We’ll speak more of this when Daniel returns. There’s no sense in fretting over it until we have more information. Do you agree, Cameron?”

 

“Yes, senior,” Cameron said, although it was clear that he was not entirely over his fretting.

 

“Hmmm,” the senior said. “Cameron, last night, although it may have slipped your mind, I asked you to tell a story to me.” When the boy nodded, the senior continued. “Why do you think I asked you to tell a story, and not recite a spell?”

 

Cameron thought. He asked himself, what is the difference between a story and a spell? “Ah!” he said. “The spell must be said a certain way. It’s like…like a millstone. It only goes around and around and it only makes flour. A story is almost never told the same way each time. It can change…sometimes it must change. I’d tell the same story differently to children than I told it to you. Is that right?”

 

“That is right, Cameron,” the senior said. “Moreover, in spite of your nervousness, you told the story very well—in both languages. You have a talent for Old Elvish, but not the rigid Old Elvish of spells. In class, yesterday, your recitation was awkward and your pronunciation was slurred. You must pronounce the words crisply and in the proper cadence. This is especially important if a spell is to be effective. Your natural talent will not take you further than acolyte. If you are to be ordained cleric, you must apply yourself.”

 

He paused, and then continued. “Cameron, it is important that you learn Old Elvish. Your teachers have been trying to force you to learn it through spells. I think you would better learn it through stories. Once you are more comfortable with the language, we can concentrate on spells.

 

“I recently came across this old book in the library. It is most unusual, in more ways than one. It appears to have been written by a human mage, at the College of Magic in Barrone, a seacoast town in the south of Arcadia. For some reason, he wrote it in Old Elvish. I want you to translate it into today’s tongue. You will spend one hour each day, at a time of your own choosing, doing so. The book is a collection of stories. As you finish each story, you will bring it to me. I will examine it, and summon you to discuss your translation before you begin the next story.

 

“Here is The Book of Heroes. Take paper, here. Daniel will give you more, as you need it. You have pens? Ink? Good. Ah, Daniel. What have you learned?”

 

“I dissembled, Master, and told Squire Eric that Cameron apologized for leaving so abruptly, but had to respond to your summons. Squire Eric thanked me. I could not speak further; he is being lionized by the boys. Even a few of the men are finding excuses to be in his company,” Daniel said. “The centurion has bowed to youthful energy, and suspended training for the day, but assures the boys most sternly that things will return to normal tomorrow.

 

“I spoke casually to several of the clerics, but learned nothing more.”

 

“It would not be appropriate for us to speculate what Squire Eric may be thinking. And that goes especially for you, Cameron,” the senior admonished as he dismissed the boy.

 

*****

 

Cameron hurried back to the barracks, anxious to blend into the rush of boys who would be bathing, playing, and preparing for supper. He hurriedly disrobed and skipped down the hall to the bath, exchanging banter with his friends. Inwardly, he was assessing each interaction to see if anyone was treating him differently, if anyone had heard of his faux pas with Eric. It appeared that no one had.

 

“Cam!” Donald’s voice penetrated the general hubbub of the bath. “Come wash me, won’t you?”

 

Cameron slipped through the crowd and joined Donald, an apprentice mage and good friend, at one of the showers. Donald had hardly pulled the rope to douse them with warm water, when he started talking.

 

“I heard you were with the senior all day! You’re not in trouble, are you?” Without giving Cameron a chance to answer, Donald continued, “I guess you heard that there’s a new boy, and that he’s the Dauphin. Doesn’t want to be called that, though. Just Eric. Anyway, you came to breakfast about the same time he did; you must have seen him.”

 

Cameron half-listened to Donald’s continuing babble as he scrubbed his friend. His eyes scanned the large bath, looking for, but not finding, Eric.

 

“Yow!” Donald said. “You startled me! Whoever you got boy magic from last night must have been terrific!”

 

Cameron nodded, and turned so that Donald could scrub his back. After a few minutes, the scrape of the sponge was replaced by the light stroke of Donald’s fingers. “Share with me tonight, Cam?” the boy asked.

 

“Thank you, Donald,” Cameron answered. “I’ll come to your room right after supper.”

 

*****

 

Clean and dry, and tingling from the scrubbing he’d received from Donald, Cameron padded down the hallway to his room. From the corner of his eye, he saw that the door to Eric’s room was open, but he did not turn his head.

 

*****

 

Donald was asleep, but that state escaped Cameron. He lay in the dark, listening to Donald’s soft breathing. Why was sex with Eric so much better than with Donald? Because Donald’s a boy and Eric’s a tween? No, I don’t think that’s it. Never seemed to make a difference in the past. Did Eric have some special training? No, he didn’t do anything differently. Cameron’s mind raced as he compared this night with the one before. Maybe that’s it, he thought. Donald shares like he talks…he flits from one subject to another, always has something to say about everything, and never bothers to listen…or to give anyone else a chance to talk. It’s not that he isn’t a nice boy; he’s really very sweet. It’s just that he cannot concentrate on one thing at a time…or on anything for more than a few minutes.

 

Eric was different, and not just because we did it twice. It felt like, well, like we were the only two people in the world, like there was nothing more important or more real than the two of us and what we were doing. That’s it, I guess. The boy’s thoughts faded as sleep finally came to him.

 

*****

 

Cameron’s fascination with the stories in The Book of Heroes drove him to spend much more time than the assigned hour translating them. On this night, he had declined offers from two of his friends to spend the evening with them, but had rushed to his room, alone. Closing the door, he lit his lamp and plopped onto his bed with the book. He’d discovered that if he opened the covers just so, he could find the bookmark he’d left. If he opened the covers any other way, the book displayed a random story. What a neat spell! the boy thought. Wonder how it… His desire to return to the story stopped even that thought, and Cameron read.

 

…Will cleaned his sword on the hem of his shirt, and wrapped it back inside the blanket. He tied the rope around the bundle. Barrett asked, again, “Who are you? I saw the sword’s magic.”

 

Will’s answer in the story was lost as Cameron’s concentration was broken by a sharp rap on his door. Cameron slammed shut the book, and hurried across the room. By custom, a closed door in the evening signaled a request for privacy. Any interruption was unusual, and was therefore not to be ignored.

 

Cameron opened the door. The light from his lamp fell on Eric’s face.

 

Before Cameron could react, Eric spoke. “Cameron, I knew you to be alone. I watched carefully. I apologize for breaking custom, but I knew of no other way to see you.” Softly but boldly, the boy continued. “Cam, why have you ignored me?”

 

Cameron sputtered, “I haven’t…I’ve been busy…my studies…”

 

Under the force of Eric’s gaze, Cameron’s voice stilled. He stepped back. He felt…not threatened, but overwhelmed. The squire seemed suddenly to fill the doorway and the hall beyond. Cameron saw not the tween, but the boy that he had been and the man he would become. Behind Eric…through Eric…inside Eric…Cameron saw all the people Eric had been. Princes and knights were there, but so were crofters and craftsmen. Cameron knew them to be such, and knew what he saw to be true, but knew not how he knew. As suddenly as this vision appeared, it vanished, and only Eric was left.

 

“Cam,” Eric began, “I’ve missed you. Please, may I come in?”

 

Cameron nodded, afraid to deny the request. Without turning his face away from Eric, Cameron moved into the room and gestured toward the single chair. “P…p…please, will you sit?”

 

When Eric was seated, Cameron sat on the edge of the bed, facing him. “Who are you?” Cameron whispered. “In the doorway…when you caught my eyes…I saw you as you are…I saw you as you were…I saw everyone you had been…I saw you as you will be…I saw your past and I saw your future. Who are you?”

 

Eric stared at Cameron before whispering, “Who are you, Cameron? Who are you that you can see these things? I have seen neither my past nor my future, but you saw both?” The boy’s voice rose in pitch, perhaps signifying fear, perhaps signifying only a question. Whichever was the case, however, Eric did not retreat from Cameron.

 

“I’m frightened,” Cameron whispered, and would have fallen to the floor in a faint had Eric not caught him.

 

Cameron woke. He was on his bed. The reading lamp still burned. Eric was kneeling on the floor, holding Cameron’s hand. As soon as Eric saw that Cameron was awake, he whispered, “Shhh, you’re okay. A healer has been summoned.”

 

Cameron became aware of a hushed babble of voices in the hallway. The door was open. Oh, no! Cameron panicked. He squeezed Eric’s hand, and then tried to free himself of the other boy’s grip. As Cameron struggled to sit up, Eric seemed to understand what was troubling him. “I only said you’d fainted, perhaps from studying too hard. Nothing else.”

 

*****

 

“It’s said that you are awake late, sometimes through the night, reading. Certainly,” the senior said, gesturing to the stack of papers on his desk, “…certainly these pages of translation represent a great deal of work. Cameron, I said that you’d not find me to be a tyrant. Did you forget that?”

 

“No, Senior,” the boy replied, his voice subdued.

 

“I also asked that you come to me after translating each story, so that we could discuss the translation. Did you forget that?”

 

“Yes, Senior,” the boy said, “but I was so excited…” Cameron’s voice faltered, and he stood, silent.

 

The senior turned to Daniel, and nodded for him to speak.

 

“Cameron, you do not know that I am a sembler, very adept. Not only can I detect a lie, I can often feel emotions, especially if they are strong, and especially if the person is within eyesight.” Daniel paused. The senior gestured encouragement and Daniel continued.

 

“Cameron, in the past days, when I see you and see that you have caught sight of Squire Eric, I feel a great emptiness inside you. I must also add that I know you’re not being completely honest with the senior. There’s more to your recent illness than you’re telling him. Since it was Eric that summoned the healer, and was with you when he arrived, I’d feel quite safe speculating that something to do with Eric is at the root of all this.”

 

As Daniel spoke, he casually walked toward Cameron. As Daniel stopped speaking, Cameron’s eyes rolled up in his head, his mouth opened, and he collapsed. He would have fallen had Daniel not caught him. “I knew he was going to faint,” Daniel smiled at his mentor. “That’s an easy thing to see.”

 

Cameron woke to find that he was propped up in a chair, and that he and the senior were alone.

 

“I sent Daniel away, Cameron,” the senior said. “I do not want you to feel compelled to tell the truth because he is here to see a lie. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, Senior,” Daniel said. “I understand…you’re offering your trust. I will not betray that trust.”

 

“Very well, then,” the senior said, settling into his own chair. “Let me hear the whole story.

 

Cameron related his experience with Eric, and his fears. He concluded by saying, “I’m afraid to talk to him, afraid I’ll make another mistake. I’m not comfortable with the other boys…oh, I’m okay with them, but it’s just not the same anymore…and I really do like the book…so I guess I just, well, hid inside the book…”

 

Before the senior could respond, Cameron added, “There’s one more thing. It really scared me.”

 

The boy clasped his hands between his knees, bowed his head, and stared at the floor. “When Eric came to my door, I saw, well, I saw him, I saw all of him, all of who he had been back to the beginning of him…I saw a line of people…his past lives…and I saw him as a man…the man he will be…I thought it was Eric, showing me those things, but he said it was me…”

 

Cameron looked up at the senior. “Help me, please,” he pleaded.

 

The senior questioned Cameron closely but gently about what he had seen. He poured tea for both Cameron and himself, and then took his seat. “Cameron,” he began, “what has happened is simply that your innate magic has shown another aspect of itself. I don’t know how you did what you did. The ability to see another person’s past lives? I’ve never heard of it. The ability to see someone’s future? That’s simply scrying. It’s something that a very learned cleric or mage can do. In your case? Well, it just happened.

 

“Cameron, the first thing you must accept is that what you did and what you saw are not Evil. They are simply manifestations of magic—your magic, in this case. You know that magic is neither Good nor Evil.

 

“Second, and this is perhaps even more important, you said you saw Eric’s future. You said you saw ‘the man he will be.’ This is not correct. What you saw was only one possible future. Eric, and you, and all of us have many possible futures. Those futures are created and erased every day with every action you take and every decision you make. Until you learn more about scrying, I charge you, on your oath, to tell no one but your teachers or me about any future thing you might see. Seeing, knowing the future can be very dangerous.

 

“I will find someone to train you…Oh, no; I know not enough about this to teach you. Nor, I suspect, will I find anyone here. Scrying is a rare talent.

 

“For now, and I say this to you as your senior, to whom you are oath-bound, go to Eric. Thank him for caring about you and apologize for ignoring him. In the future, if you cannot be his friend, at least treat him with the same courtesy you would offer to any of your cohort.”

 

Cameron walked toward his room. He would do as the senior instructed him, but first he needed to wash his face, which was puffy with tears. He hoped no one would see him.

 

Shock flashed across Cameron’s face as he opened the door to his room. Eric’s sitting in my chair!

 

Eric rushed toward Cameron, “Oh, Cam, are you all right?”

 

Seeing the expression on Cameron’s face, Eric stopped short. “Or do I presume?” the squire said in an even tone, his face immobile.

 

All the pretty words Cameron had rehearsed on the way from the senior’s library fled his mind, and he gasped. “Eric, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me!”

 

*****

 

“Cam, I know I didn’t tell you who I was. What was I supposed to say? ‘My mother’s name for me is Eric and by the way she’s the king’s sister and Duchess of Barbicana and that makes me a prince and oh, yeah, I’m also the Heir Presumptive.’ I’d sound like a real prick.”

 

Cameron giggled, but it was a nervous giggle.

 

Eric calmed a little, and then continued, “Cam, you don’t…you can’t know what it was like for me at home. I was treated differently for as long as I can remember. Worse, I never knew who my real friends were.” He looked up at Cameron, “Swear you’ll never tell…”

 

Eric looked at Cameron. Cameron wasn’t entirely sure what he was being asked to swear to, but agreed, “I swear…”

 

Eric continued, “One boy I thought was my friend…I overheard him telling someone, bragging that he was my Best Friend, and that I believed everything he told me, but that he really was only pretending until he was named squire…”

 

The boys sat in an uncomfortable silence. Cameron was afraid to say anything. Finally Eric continued, “I didn’t tell him I’d heard. I just stopped being his friend. He wasn’t really Evil, I don’t think. He was just not a nice person. The Elders saw that, when he was examined, and he didn’t become a squire. But I never said anything. I did not have reason to hurt him. I don’t think he knows, even now…”

 

Eric fell silent, again. He reached out as if to touch Cameron’s hand, but pulled back.

 

“Cam,” he said, “sharing boy magic with you was so much better than ever before, with anyone else. I felt free to take you fully, and I felt I could trust you completely. I’ve never slept the night with anyone, before. I had to send boys away before I fell asleep, and then sleep alone in a guarded room. I haven’t been so free with anyone since Morgan betrayed me…Oh! Never say his name! You swore!”

 

When Cameron remained silent, Eric pressed him, “Say you’ll never say his name! On your oath!”

 

“I swear,” Cameron said. “Oh, Eric, why do you ask me to swear a second time? Do you not trust me? Do you think I am not the same boy you shared with? Do you think I am so changed toward you because you are who you are?”

 

Eric’s face paled. He hiccoughed as his breath caught in his throat. “Cam, oh Cam. I’m sorry.”

 

*****

 

Cameron and Eric lay quietly in Cameron’s bed. They were reconciled. The hurt, real and imagined, that each had done to the other was forgiven. Both knew, however, that their relationship would never be the same. It would never be as innocent and pure as it had been on that first night. Yet it was stronger. They had both felt the strength of their bond in the magic that flowed between them. That strength was their due; it was compensation for their loss of innocence.

 

 

 

Translators’ Notes

 

Compline is the canonical hour “just before bedtime.” It is also the name of a “service” (which is not a worship service, but a gathering for mutual support and fellowship) conducted at that hour.

 

Sext is the canonical hour of noon. (It is also the name of a gathering held at that hour.)

 

To “drop one’s cup” is an idiom for revealing a secret or making a social blunder.

 

The story of The Bully and the Boy that Cameron tells to his senior is likely an analogue of Aesop’s The Wolf and the Lamb.