Book of Heroes: George of Sedona I - 11. The Smith of Bowling Green

Chapter 11: The Smith of Bowling Green

It is with fire that blacksmiths iron subdue
Into fair forms, the image of their thoughts…
—Michelangelo, Sonnet 59

Following the directions the stable boy had given them, Arthur and George easily found the blacksmith’s forge. The rhythmic clank of hammer on anvil echoing down the street guided them the last hundred yards or so. The forge was behind a shop which bore a sign with both a large and a small hammer and anvil.

“Wonder what that means,” George said, pointing to the sign. His question was answered when the boys walked through the shop door. The counter and shelves held exquisitely wrought jewelry, toys, and game pieces as well as the traditional products of the smith’s forge: tools, swords and knives, horseshoes, pots and pans, and other house- and farm-hold items.

Behind the counter, sitting on a stool, was a boy. In one hand he held a tiny tweezers with which he attempted to insert something small into something he held in his hand. His face was the picture of concentration, and his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth as if to aid that concentration. Hearing footsteps cross the threshold, he looked up. “Hello, how can I help you? Oh, oh—”

The boy started and grabbed for whatever had been held in the tweezers. “Ah, ha!” Apparently, he was successful. He put the tweezers, a tiny ceramic ball, and a doll’s head on the counter. “That eye can wait. Oh, who are you?”

“My name is Arthur, and this is George. What is your name?”

“Gary, son of the Smith,” the boy answered. “Welcome to Bowling Green, for if you were of this town, I would know you, since everyone comes to father’s shop. Now that you are here, would you like something?” He waved his arm to indicate the items on display.

Arthur nudged George, who spoke. “I want a sword…” He opened the pack that he’d carried into the shop. “Made of this. It’s a meteorite—a sky-stone.” He put the lump of iron on the counter.

Gary’s mouth formed an O as he hefted the sky-stone, and brought it close to his face to examine it. Arthur saw some movement in the magic field as the boy did so. Innate magic, he thought. I thought I saw a glow from the tweezers, earlier.

“It really is a sky-stone, isn’t it? Not enough iron to make enough steel to make a sword,” Gary said. “I’m sorry. Perhaps a poniard and probably enough left over for a dagger?”

“What if it were alloyed with this?” Arthur asked as he placed a silver ingot on the counter beside the meteorite.

Gary stared for a moment, and then lifted the ingot. He apparently expected it to be heavier than it was, for it nearly flew from his hand. “This can’t be what I think it is…can it?” the boy asked.

“It is mithral,” Arthur replied.

“But mithral can’t be alloyed with iron,” Gary said. “At least, not by a human smith.”

“Well, actually it can. It does require some magic,” Arthur replied. “We will supply the magic, but we need a smith…or the son of a smith…you perhaps?…to forge the sword while we work the magic. What do you say to that?”

“Feel my hands,” Gary said, holding them out. Arthur and George each took one. “No calluses,” George said. Arthur nodded agreement.

“My father has a callus across his right hand…here…from the hammer, and others across the left hand…here…and here…from the tongs. My brothers’ hands are like that, too…except Allen, who is left handed so they’re backwards, and Davey, who’s still a child and too little to do anything except walk the bellows.”

“But you have a keen eye and a steady hand, and you do the detail work, the final decoration, the polishing that make each piece beautiful,” Arthur said, his look encompassing the shop. Gary smiled in acknowledgment of Arthur’s praise.

They all looked toward the door at the end of the counter when the sound of the hammer on the anvil stopped. The smith and two tweens, his sons by their appearance, came into the shop. Gary, without getting from his stool behind the counter, told his father, “This is Arthur; the boy is George. They have a proposal for you…they want to alloy the iron from this sky-stone with this mithral to make a sword.”

The smith looked at Gary, at Arthur, at George. He licked his finger and touched the meteorite. He did the same with the ingot of mithral. “Come you with me…bring the iron and mithral…no, leave the boys…” the smith said.

Shrugging, George handed the meteorite to Arthur, who took it and the ingot into the forge, following the smith and the two tweens.

“The only ones who can meld mithral and steel are the elves,” the smith said as soon as the door was closed.

“Actually, it’s not the elves,” Arthur said. “Actually. It’s a spell. I’m a mage, and I know the spell.”

“I should know better than to question someone who comes to me with an ingot of mithral, but…how is it that you know the spell?”

“I worked it out myself,” Arthur began, pulling a piece of parchment from a pouch on his belt. “Here is iron, see, with strength of 2, 3, 4, or 6…it can be made to have that many links when combined with another substance. Carbon, which we have to add to make steel, can make 2, 3, or 4 links. I also have copper, which can make 1 or 2 links. Here is mithral…it can make 3 links, only…”

“You know that? How can you know that? I’ve seen pure mithral, even handled it once when I was apprenticed, but no human smith knows the links of mithral…”

“That was the hard part…thousands of tests over several years in a spagyricum. And, that was just the first step. More tests to determine how many of the iron’s links to leave open after filling the iron with carbon…and it still didn’t work. Only when I added copper better to channel magic could I bond the mithral. More tests to determine how best to forge the metal. It can’t be cast, you know.” Arthur concluded.

“No, I didn’t know that. I’ve learned more about mithral in the past few minutes than most smiths learn in a lifetime.”

“I don’t quite know how to ask this, but: we’ll see the spell, of course. Aren’t you worried that we’ll memorize it? Copy it?” one of the tweens, Allen, asked.

“Actually, no. Actually,” Arthur replied. “I want to teach it to you all. The spell is not just something that I do. It’s something that George will do, since the sword is for him. It’s something that your younger brother out in the shop will do—if your father will allow. I would like him to put the final touches on the blade. It’s something that each of you boys will do as you help your father. It’s something that the smith must do as he hammers…just as with your own Guild Magic.”

“And what do you know about Smith Guild Magic?”

“I know that when you swing the hammer, you gather magic, just as a mage does when he moves his arms. I know that you use the magic to strengthen the metal and shape it to your mind’s image. I know that you alloy metals and create amalgams by magicking the metals to form bonds that they would otherwise not easily form. I know that you move heat from the forge onto the work piece to keep the heat even;—”

“And that’s what we would do to make this sword?” the smith asked.

“That and more,” Arthur said. “You did not want the boys here just now…said they should stay in the shop. I don’t understand what that means…and, George must be here when the sword is forged,” Arthur said. “Gary must be here to do the finish work, as well. It can’t be the danger in the forge, since Gary said that your son, Davey, walked the bellows.”

“No reason,” the smith replied, “except that Gary has to stay to keep the shop open, and I didn’t know what secrets your boy…George, is it?...George is permitted to know.”

Again one of the tweens, Eddie this time, spoke. “Are you not afraid that we’d use the spell for Evil?”

“No. You see, I looked at this place before we came in the door. There’s no Evil in this house, only Good. So, Master Smith, will you help us do this thing, and what will be the cost?”

“The cost? I was about to ask what I must pay you to learn the spell! The cost! Why, you’ve already paid the cost!” The smith shook his head. “This will be the most interesting day ever at this forge!”

*****

George and Gary, left alone in the shop, awkwardly began talking. Gary had picked up the doll head and his tweezers. “That’s a nice doll. It looks real. Is it somebody?” George asked.

“Well,” Gary said, “He might be the tween who would be my best friend.” The boy paused, “Is Arthur your best friend?”

“He’s my best friend…he’s my only friend in this world…uh, in the world…I had some friends…some people I thought were my friends…but they…never mind…Yes, Arthur’s my best friend.”

Gary fitted the eye into the doll’s head. Had George been paying more attention, he might have seen the glow of magic that fixed the eye in place.

“Do you share boy magic with Arthur?”

“Oh, yes,” George breathed. As he did, he saw a funny look flash over Gary’s face, but it was gone before he could read it.

“How come you don’t have a name like smith’s son,” Gary asked.

“Because I’m an orphan. Arthur sort of adopted me…” George answered.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gary said. “How many brothers?”

“None … I’m an only child. My only relatives were uncles and aunts … but they didn’t want me … and some cousins … ”

“My brothers all work in the shop. Except for one. He joined the army. We don’t hear from him much. He’s in Arcadia.”

Gary put the doll’s head aside, picked up a game piece, and began filing down a rough edge.

“What’s that for? It looks like a castle. Is it a rook?”

“What’s a rook?”

The boys discussed chess, and agreed that they might play a game, someday. Gary showed George the other pieces he was making as a gift for his father.

After a while, Gary brought out an orrery that he was building for himself. George hunched over the counter, watching intently as Gary explained how the gears drove the movement of the moons and the six Bright Travelers, as well as the sun and two of the brightest stars. “I’m going to put on more stars when I can.”

“It’s beautiful,” George said, breathlessly. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He paused, and caught his breath. “Gary, would you share with me? I mean, if you may…if your father and Arthur say it’s okay…we’re staying at the Inn of the Golden Dragon…it’s not far…and Arthur wouldn’t mind…he’s got a lot of writing to do…Can you? Will you?”

“Why do you want to share with me? Because I can make an orrery?” Gary asked. His voice was suddenly bitter.

“No…no! George answered, “Because you are a nice boy; because you showed me things that are precious to you; because you like the stars; because you answered my dumb questions about the orrery and the planets without laughing. And because…well, because you’re cute.”

Gary turned his head to the back of the shop for a moment. When he faced George again, there were tears in his eyes. “Thank you. I was wrong about you. But you must know.” The boy stood and stepped away from the stool toward the back of the shop. He lurched as he walked.

“Come to the counter and look…”

George, who had stepped back from the counter, pressed against it and looked at Gary. He could see the boy from his head to … to his club feet. Gary wore no shoes, nor likely ever could wear them. Both feet were turned in so that he had to walk on the outer sides, on which thick calluses had developed. His legs below mid-thigh were covered with twisted, ropey muscles that had not properly developed. His appearance was made all the more grotesque by the perfection of the rest of his body.

“So, what does this mean? That you don’t want to walk all the way to the Golden Dragon,” George said. “Will you share with me here?”

Gary stared. “You still want to share boy magic with me? Gary the crippled, monster son of the smith? I knew you weren’t from around here. None of the boys in Bowling Green will share with me.”

“You’re still the nice boy who showed me something that was precious to him, who likes the stars, and who answered my silly questions without laughing,” George said. “And you’re still cute! So there! Arthur taught me that there must always be an Asking and a Telling; if you don’t want to share with me, just Tell me so, and stop trying to make excuses!”

Gary had no chance to reply before the smith and his sons, with Arthur, returned to the shop. Addressing one of the tweens, the smith said, “Go tell your mother there will be guests for supper. Arthur and…sorry, what’s your name, again? George. Arthur and George will stay for supper and then we will go over that spell again.”

Before Gary had a chance to speak, George blurted, “Arthur, may Gary and I share boy magic? If it’s okay with his father, of course.”

Gary stood pale and trembling. The smith shooed the other tween away. “Go with your brother, now.” Then he walked over to Gary and put his arm around him.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “First, a tween who knows a great deal more about Smith Magic than he should, comes to me with a fortune in mithral and shows me a spell that human smiths only dream of knowing. Then his boy asks to share with my son when there’s not a boy in Bowling Green who will do so…except his brothers, of course.”

“I’m sorry,” George said. The stoutness of his voice belied his words. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. It’s just that Gary was so nice to me, and showed me his things and told me about them…I just asked, that’s all.”

“Is this true, Gary,” the smith asked.

“Yes, father,” the boy said, “It truly didn’t seem to matter to him that I was crippled and ugly.”

“Not!” George blurted.

Arthur hugged George to him. “George is both younger and older than he looks; he’s seen both more and less of life than has Gary. He has a gift: he can see if a person is Good or Evil; he can see through masks and lies. He sees beyond outward appearances. Truly, George doesn’t see Gary except as he has said: a nice, kind, and not ugly boy.”

The smith shook his head. “This is the strangest day of my life. Gary, do you want to share with this boy?” When his son nodded, the smith continued, “Then you have my permission. Arthur?”

Arthur nodded. “Of course.”

*****

George and Gary disappeared immediately after supper. The smith, the two tweens, and Arthur retired to the cooling forge, where the smith produced a jug of cider and a collection of mugs. “This has a little kick, so not too much.”

Arthur went over the process for first carbonizing the iron in the meteorite and then melding that with the copper, then the mithral. “We’ll have to measure and weigh several times, since we don’t want to cut off or remove any metal. We can add mithral during the process to make the desired weight.”

“Why not cut off—or pinch off—surplus metal?” one of the tweens asked.

“We’ll be weaving magic into the sword during this whole process. Taking away any metal would create a weak spot in the magic, which would translate into a weak spot in the sword, right?” his brother said.

“That’s correct,” Arthur and the smith said as one.

“Gary and George are fast asleep. There’s no reason to wake them…” Ed said.

“Yeah, there’s no reason they should have all the fun,” Allen said. “Would you stay here tonight, and share with us, Arthur?”

“Thank you, yes. I’d like that very much,” Arthur answered.

*****

The smith hired a neighbor boy to sit in the shop and invite customers to return in two days. “That should do it, don’t you think, Arthur?” he asked.

“Yes, I believe so. Rehearsal, preparation, and gathering material today; a good night’s sleep…George and I will return to the inn where there will be fewer, ah, distractions… and then we’ll do it for real, tomorrow.”

“That’s Fall Equinox. Any special reason for that?” Allen asked.

“The symbolism of light from the forge beating back the darkness of the coming winter is useful. It may help us focus magic, but it’s not essential,” Arthur answered.

The next day, Arthur and the smith showed each boy the part he would play, and carefully explained the reasons for each action, each movement, and each ingredient. “The skystone…meteorite, you call it…doesn’t have enough carbon, but it will pick up carbon from the charcoal in the forge,” the smith said. “We’ll use strictly charcoal from oak. Eddie, you and Davey will clean the forge thoroughly this afternoon. Allen, you and George will tote in the charcoal and fill the forge and the scuttles. Both of them.”

“George will use those tongs to add strips of mithral to the blade as it is being forged and folded, like this,” Arthur said. “I’ll cut mithral with this,” indicating a silver dagger whose blade glowed more brightly than could be accounted by the dim light of the room.

The smith continued the instructions, “Eddie, you will be at the scales. The desired weight of the sword, with an allowance for leather and wire to be added to the haft, is already on it. I will place the sword on the balance, and you will read the scale to let us know how much more mithral to add. You’ll also be gathering magic as you normally do when you’re assisting me.

“Allen, you and Davey are on the bellows…I know, Davey, you’re strong, but this is going to take a lot more time than you’re accustomed to, and there will be no stopping once we’ve started.”

Arthur continued the plan. “Gary, the sword’s going to be red hot when it gets to you, and we must not let it cool just yet. Allen and Davey must keep the bellows going, even though the sword will be off the forge, since we will use the heat of the forge to keep it hot enough for Gary to put these designs on it.”

Arthur handed Gary a piece of parchment on which four runes were drawn. “Here are the designs I would like you to put on the sword. You will be painting with liquid mithral… anodizing—adding a layer of oxidized…rusted…mithral—I’ll show you, and we’ll do a test on some scrap metal. I will be channeling magic to you. George will be holding the sword in his hands…his bare hands. If any of us slip, he will be burned badly and the sword will be ruined.”

“What do the runes mean, or, is that a secret?” Gary asked.

“Some mages would like all runes to be a secret, but I don’t subscribe to that belief. These are Old Elvish for light, power, love, and destiny,” Arthur said.

“Now, Gary, we’re going to take a tiny bit of mithral…so…and heat it using only magic…the forge is still hot enough, and if we use it as our source, that will help cool it for Eddie and Davey to clean, later. The mithral will form a drop, here, into which you will dip your tools. Form the image of the rune in your mind, just as you do when you are designing one of your game pieces. Use that image to scribe the mithral onto the sword. I’ll be channeling magic to you…you’ve worked that way before, haven’t you?”

“He hasn’t,” the smith said. “Never had cause to.”

Arthur opened his mind to the matrix and drew magic into himself, remembering the first time he had experienced the flow of raw magic through his body.

He put his hand on Gary’s left shoulder, and allowed a little magic to flow to the boy. Although he’d not received or used magic this way before, Gary’s unconscious experience with his innate magic made it work.

Gary dipped his scribe in the drop of molten mithral and pulled liquid metal from the drop onto the tool in his hand using Mind and Magic. Placing the tip of the scribe onto the heated piece of scrap metal that was the practice target, he drew the first line of the first rune. Lifting the scribe, he focused on the parchment and then the metal. Perfect, he thought.

Line followed line; Gary switched scribes several times, choosing the one whose width or angle of tip was just right for the job. It took about a quarter hour, but the boy recreated the design of the first rune perfectly. The others followed more quickly.

Arthur slowly released the magic back into the Matrix…and relaxed. “That was absolutely perfect, Gary, absolutely perfect!”

Gary was glowing with pride and something else. “I could feel you in the magic that you gave me…it was like boy magic, but not as much fun.” Impulsively the boy asked Arthur, “Would you share with me?”

Realizing what he’d said, Gary gasped, and started stammering, “I mean…”

Gary’s father, who had been watching with his other sons, grinned at Gary’s consternation. “Up to you, Arthur.”

“Gary, I’d like very much to share with you,” Arthur said. “Tomorrow after we’ve finished?”

Gary gulped, smiled, and nodded.

Allen, a bit bolder than Eddie, blurted, “Then George, will you share with Eddie and me?”

George looked at Arthur who nodded his approval. “Yes, I’d like that, too,” George said.

*****

Arthur and George had returned to the inn, and prepared for sleep. George, however, was wide awake. “Light, power, love, and destiny. I know why Light. Light represents Good. Destiny: you told me that destiny was the strongest force in this world. I understand power, too, because a sword must be powerful. But why love? Why does a sword carry the symbol for love?”

“Because it’s my hope, George, that you will always have love,” Arthur said.

George hugged Arthur tightly. “Will you share boy magic with me tonight, or must we not because of tomorrow,” he asked.

“Thank you, George, I will gladly share with you, and we will use that magic to make your sword even stronger and straighter…not that one! Stop giggling!”

*****

It was dark when Eddie and Allen filled the forge with charcoal and started the fire. It was still dark when the others gathered. The instant the sun rose, Davey began to walk the bellows and Master Smith Edgar lay the skystone on the coals of the forge. A few minutes later, the sound of the hammer began, and was not stilled until late afternoon when the sword, still red with heat, was placed across George’s outstretched hands.

Gary, who had been waiting for this moment, dipped a stylus in molten mithral and began to draw the runes.

When Gary was finished, Arthur nodded to George who walked to a trough and plunged the still-glowing sword into water that had been prepared just for this purpose. The water contained a drop of George’s blood, but otherwise was as pure as magic could make it. When Arthur nodded again, George removed the sword from the water. It shone in the light from the forge and from the last rays of sunlight that bounced off something in the yard and through the doorway. The sword was polished and sharp. Sympathetic magic and the mental images held by the Mastersmith and his sons had ensured that. While George held the sword, his hands firmly gripping the blade that would not cut him, Gary carefully wrapped a strip of wet leather around the hilt, weaving it in a crossing pattern that would assure a firm grip. He then took a silver wire, one that he had pulled and braided himself, and wrapped it over the leather in a simple spiral. When the wire was tight, Arthur held Gary’s hand while magic flowed through the boy to weld the ends of the wire in place.

“It is finished,” Arthur said.

“It’s beautiful,” George said, “thank you…thank you all so very, very much.” Holding the sword now by the hilt, he accepted the outstretched hands and hugs of the smith’s sons and Arthur. Even Edgar, less demonstrative than his sons, touched the boy’s head in blessing.

*****

“You don’t have to share with me if you don’t want to,” Gary said quietly. “I know I was...imp…imp…impetuous to ask you. It was kind of you to—”

Arthur shushed the boy’s protests with a kiss. “But I do want to, Gary,” Arthur said. “George was right about you. You are a kind, interesting, sweet, and cute boy. Today you and I worked together as partners. We shared in the creation of the runes. I felt you, in the magic, just as you felt me, and I like what I felt. Now, please put down that file, and come to bed.”

*****

“Yesterday, when we forged the sword, I think I saw the magic matrix,” George said excitedly. “I wasn’t sure, so I went into the forge early this morning and tried it again. Just above the anvil, it looks like a sheaf of wheat, all golden, and tied in the middle, lying on its side on top of the anvil. The ends go all fuzzy, and then disappear. Do you think that’s it?”

“You’re describing exactly what I saw, yesterday, as Master Smith Edgar raised and lowered his hammer. That anvil has been used for so long that it’s become a locus of magic. I’m glad you’re learning to see the magical field. You will be able to gather magic more effectively if you can see the direction of the lines of force.”

*****

“Master Smith, when I shared with Gary, I saw a little bit of him. You know that happens…it is impossible not to share without seeing a little of a person’s mind.” Arthur said. “Since I know some magic, I saw more than most people would, and not only of his mind, but of his body. There’s no physical or magical reason that he could not be healed.”

The smith looked closely at Arthur. “They said that at the temple, too. There’s no reason that he could not be healed,” the man said. “And they tried…he was just a baby…they straightened his feet…it took over three months…and we had to take him there every tenday…but even before he could start to walk, his feet grew back the way they were…turned under and messed up. I thank the Light that he doesn’t remember and I cry when I think of how he once looked and how he looks now.”

“The healers at the temple were not equipped to deal with the cause of the problem,” Arthur said. “However, I am. Just as you use molds as patterns for casting, the body uses molds to shape itself. As hair grows and is cut off, as fingernails grow and are trimmed, as skin abrades and replaces itself, the entire body continually replaces itself using these molds. The mold for Gary’s feet is broken; even though the healers at the temple repaired his feet, they didn’t repair the mold. As his body replaced itself, they grew back the way they are now.

“What I would do is first fix the mold, and then repair his feet and legs. Gary’s molds were created when he were conceived. Part came from his mother and part from you. You and your wife also gave a set of molds to each of Gary’s brothers. Something happened to part of Gary’s mold. That’s what we would fix.

“Each person’s molds are a little different. That’s why Gary has brown hair and eyes, and Allen and Ed have yellow hair and green eyes, and Davey has brown hair and blue eyes. Magic will compare the molds from Gary’s mother and from you to Gary’s mold. Magic will also compare Gary’s mold to his brothers’ molds…and, as an extra check, to George’s mold. When all that is done, only the differences, including the break in the pattern that causes his feet to grow the way they do, will be visible and fixable. Only then would I heal his feet. That will be the hardest part for Gary. It will take months for his feet to grow to the new pattern, for the muscles in his legs to adjust, and for him to learn to walk all over again.”

Arthur sat silently while the smith pondered.

“Are you sure of this? For if you are not…well, you dare not disappoint the boy. It would crush him.”

“Yes, Master Smith, I am sure.”

*****

Gary was prepared. Arthur explained what he would do, and what the results would be. He also told Gary that he would have to learn to walk all over again, that his new feet would be tender, and that he’d have to learn to wear shoes, too. “It will be painful, Gary,” Arthur warned.

The family gathered with Arthur and George one early evening. Gary lay on a blanket spread on the kitchen table. His mother held one hand; his father held the other.

Arthur gestured, and magic flowed through the smith and was patterned by his DNA … then his wife … then a son …another son …another son…then George…then Gary…what emerged was the pattern that was unique to Gary.

Arthur examined the pattern…not that one…that’s reserve…there…the one in the control segments…that one, there…of course, it’s at the end of the line…the last one to be expressed…it’s different thus from his father and brothers…and George…and me…

Arthur gave magic a twist such as a healer might use to create an anti-virus or an anti-toxin, and poured it back into Gary’s body, altering the control chain of every cell in the boy’s body. Step one: that will ensure that new cells form properly…now to start the body fixing what’s already there.

Last, he channeled energy to speed the re-growth in the boy’s legs. Step two, he thought. Now the hard part begins.

*****

A storm had blown off the mountains, bringing heavy rain. Arthur and George spent the day at the inn, playing chess and reading. They’d dashed across the stable yard twice to check on their horses, which were no happier than the two boys to be cooped up indoors.

“Arthur,” George asked. “Why could you heal Gary, but the healers couldn’t?”

They had returned to their room, their bodies still warm from the bath. Arthur’s hands traced gentle curves across George’s back and down his spine, following the golden lines of magic. He felt George’s boy magic focusing, but knew that he’d not distract George from his question. “There’s a short answer, and there’s a long one. The short answer is the one I gave Gary’s father. I fixed his DNA first. They don’t know about DNA.”

Arthur touched George only with his fingertips, now. The boy gasped as Arthur touched spot after spot. Arthur abruptly lifted his hands. “Do you want the long answer?” he asked.

*****

“Good day to you, lads!” The familiar voice of the publican’s brother came from the stable door. Arthur and George had finished grooming and feeding their horses, and were about to have their own breakfast.

“Good day to you, Master Granville,” Arthur replied, “How did you fare during the rain last night? Are the roads passable?” Granville was one of several men who shared the ownership of a horse farm just outside the town. He often visited his brother’s family at the inn when he came to town.

“The horses were skittish, and glad to get to pasture today. The road fared well,” the man replied. “You know, I’m still interested in breeding your stallion.”

This was a familiar theme. The man had suggested several times that Arthur put Aurorus to stud, and that George consider breeding Aeolia. They’d convinced the man that breeding Aeolia was out of the question, but had left open the matter of Aurorus.

The three walked across the rear court to the inn. “We’ve committed to staying in Bowling Green for at least several months,” Arthur said. “Not long enough for the mare to foal, but certainly long enough for Aurorus to sire a colt. Do you have a mare in season?”

Left to themselves, mares came into season once a year, and foaled in the spring. The breeders, however, preferred to stagger births, and used magic—supposedly a Hyperion Guild secret, but widely known to anyone who raised animals—to bring mares into season.

“Not now, but it would take less than a tenday. Could you visit today? I’d like your thoughts on which mare to select,” Granville asked.

They hammered out the details over breakfast. Arthur and George would go to the Granville stable on their daily ride. Arthur and Granville would select the mare, and Arthur would select a horse for his use during the time that Aurorus would be at the farm. In a tenday, unless they heard otherwise, Arthur and George would bring Aurorus to the farm, where he’d be put to stud for another tenday, or until the mare became pregnant, whichever was sooner. Arthur would be paid two crowns if Aurorus mounted the mare, 5 crowns when the mare became pregnant, and another 5 crowns when the colt was born. “We will likely be traveling when the colt is born,” Arthur said. “I’d like the birth-payment to be given to Master Smith Edgar; I’ll talk to him about that, today.”

Arthur and George left for the Granville stable shortly after breakfast. After taking the first few miles at a brisk gallop, they walked the horses.

“You said last night that there was a long answer about Gary’s healing,” George said. “Do we have time for it, now?”

“We have time to get started,” Arthur said. “Let me see if I can figure out how to begin.”

The tween thought for a moment. “We’ve talked about the two great forces—Light and Dark—and about destiny, which is also a great force. There’s another force…maybe two forces, maybe one working in two ways…I’m not sure. It’s probably simpler to think of it as two forces: order and chaos. Did you ever study any thermodynamics? Know anything about entropy?”

When George shook his head no, Arthur continued. “Well, let’s leave that for later, then. For now…an analogy.

“Water that’s frozen, a diamond, rock candy, they’re all crystals. They’re fairly regular and orderly. That’s because of the way the molecules form chemical bonds. Liquid water is less orderly than ice, and steam is even less orderly, and more chaotic. In the case of water, the forces toward order or chaos are pretty well understood—chemical bonds and heat energy for the most part.

“Some of what we call magic involves manipulating chemical bonds, using the energy of the magical field. Heating ice to form water and then steam can be done in a kettle over a fire, or with magic. Magic also may be used to manipulate the bonds between atoms at the valence electrons…”

Arthur paused, but George nodded, “I did study that. Twice, in fact, since I had to take 9^th grade general science two years in a row.”

“At the sub-atomic level, we run into quantum particles…quarks, for example.” George nodded again, so Arthur continued. “It used to be thought that electrons orbited the atomic nucleus in specific, fixed orbits, and that those orbits were equivalent to a specific energy level. Later, it became pretty clear that the electrons were not in fixed orbits, but could be anywhere from the center of the nucleus to the far end of the universe. It was just that the probability was so high that they were close to the nucleus.”

“I remember that, but I never did understand the difference between orbits and orbitals,” George said.”

“We’ll get to that, eventually,” Arthur assured him. “For now, please accept that at the level below the valence electrons, there is more uncertainty, and less order. At the quantum level, it gets less certain, less orderly, and more chaotic. There is some uncertainty in any spell, but magical spells that operate at the quantum level are subject to greater uncertainty.

“The great magic, when controlled, can operate at a macroscopic level…a physical level. Like moving a rock. It can operate at the chemical level, like when Master Edgar forged your sword. It can operate at the atomic level and, it can operate at the sub-atomic level. When I healed Gary, I constrained the magic to operate at the level of chemical bonds in his DNA.”

“Yeah, but why couldn’t the healers at the temple do all this?” George asked.

“I remember that was your original question,” Arthur said. “Mostly, I think, because most of them don’t even know about DNA. But also, I think, because they can’t see any deeper than the physical level. A good healer can use magic to see cells and bacteria and perhaps even a virus. But they can’t see what’s going on even at the valence electron level. They understand it, and they can use magic at that level, but they don’t see what they’re doing. In order to be a Master Mage at the chemical level, you have to be able to see at that level, and deeper. They couldn’t.”

*****

Arthur and George visited the smithy often, not only because Arthur was still helping Gary’s healing, but also because the smith and his family earnestly welcomed them. On one such day, Gary and George were alone in the shop.

“The first day you came into the shop, you called the donjon a rook; and you still call the senior a bishop and the paladin a knight. You called the skystone a meteorite, and you called the Bright Travelers, planets, and you didn’t know their names—you didn’t even know there were six of them. Where do these words come from? You act like you don’t know what a best friend really is. You also said that Arthur was your best friend in this world. Then you said in the world. You see, I remember things. George, I like you…I like you a lot…and I like Arthur. But sometimes, I’m scared.”

As Gary spoke, George’s face had gone ashen. “I…I’ve got to get Arthur…but Gary, please don’t be frightened…please…” the boy was in tears as he rushed from the room.

George returned with Arthur and Master Smith Edgar.

“Master Edgar, Gary, there’s something that you must know…something that Gary has apparently discovered for himself. At least, he has discovered some of it.

“The reason George calls a donjon a rook and calls the senior the bishop, and didn’t know the name of the Bright Travelers, or planets, is because he is not from this world. In fact, he’s been in this world less than two years. He is from the northern continent, but it’s the northern continent of another world. He did come to Arcadia from Elvenhold, but he arrived in Elvenhold by magic, not by ship.”

Gary’s eyes had gotten wider and wider as Arthur spoke. Master Smith Edgar, however, merely nodded as Arthur ticked off each point.

When Arthur finished, the smith broke the silence. “I knew there was something different about you two. Arthur always knew too much about Smith Magic, but the way he talked about it…it wasn’t the way a smith would talk. And George, you were…well, awkward about things, like a colt finding its legs.” The smith’s smile took away any sting that George might have felt. “You were too smart to be backwards, and knew too many things to be uneducated. Couldn’t figure it out. Wasn’t worried, though. You’re both Good, and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Master Edgar. I hope that your good will extends to keeping this a secret. George could be endangered if the wrong people knew about him,” Arthur said.

“Yes, of course. Gary, you’ll not speak of this to anyone, not even your mother or brothers.”

Gary nodded solemnly.