Master of Fire - 5. Imagine, Magic

By tacit agreement, Marty and Chandler did not speak of words and war, but joined Larry and Steve in their chores. The next day passed as had the one before. The boys worked during the morning, and played in the afternoon. Steve and Larry’s father, Masterfarmer Dorn, usually taciturn, praised the four boys for the good work on the hedgerow. “You two would have taken a tenday to do as much,” he said, “Marty and Chandler are a good influence on you.” He chuckled at the expressions on his son’s faces.

Larry and Steve offered the boys hoes the next morning. “The hoe cuts the roots of weeds and loosens the soil…we use a little boy magic to guide it, and to help keep it sharp. I…I can’t really tell you how we do it…I guess it’s just something we picked up watching our father…” Steve tried to explain.

“Watching…image…imagination,” Marty said. “Do you have a picture in your mind of a sharp hoe slicing through the roots?”

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“Me, too,” Larry said.

“Me, too,” Robbie echoed. The child was kneeling in the kitchen garden, weeding it with a hand-trowel, while the older boys got ready to go into the fields.

“You’re silly,” Steve said. “You don’t have magic, yet.”

“You’re interesting, Marty,” Larry said. “I never knew anyone who was so curious about how magic worked. All the boys I know just use it…like their fathers and brothers use it. No one ever wondered about it, before.”

“Do you know a lot of other boys?” Marty asked. He and Larry were hoeing one row; Chandler and Steve were on another.

“Oh, sure. We’re the farthest farm from Riverside on this road, but there’s one only about an hour ride north, and another an hour north of that, and another just before you get to the village. There’s two more east and west…here, let me draw you a map.”

The map he drew resembled a triangle, with dots scattered here and there.

“The point at the top is Riverside. Each other point is a farm. That’s our farm at the bottom. Each farm is no more than a half-day ride from Riverside, and we’re within a half-day ride of…let’s see…about 11 other farms. We visit a lot in the summer and winter, between planting and harvest; and we go to market in Riverside at least once a month, sometimes more.”

“How can you be away from the farm? Don’t you have to work all the time?”

Larry laughed. “No, we don’t work all the time…except during planting and harvest.”

Steve added, “There’s always something to do, but we almost never have to work more than half a day, or less.”

*****

“Chandler, if Larry and Steve ask again, would you have sex with them?” Marty asked when they were alone.

“I…I don’t know,” Chandler said. “I’ve only done this six times.”

“Seven,” Marty said. “We did it twice last night.”

“Oh, yeah,” Chandler said. His face got a dreamy expression. “You are so incredible. I don’t know…what do you think?”

“I think it’s customary, but also that they wouldn’t be upset if we didn’t. I think that sex is pretty casual, but also very serious…there are rules. We probably don’t know all the rules…but we probably need to learn them before we start wandering around looking for a way home. This seems to be a pretty safe place to learn…they already know we’re young and, well, inexperienced.

“I was thinking about asking them,” Marty added. “I mean, how would they know when to ask us?”

Chandler hugged Marty, and kissed him. “I knew I liked you for your mind.”

That opened up Marty’s thoughts. “Whatever taught us whatever language we’re speaking, also took words, and concepts away from us. But it left others! What did the new stuff have in common with what disappeared when we crossed here?” Marty asked.

“Magic,” Chandler said. “Stuff that’s normal here—like you healing Robbie—would be magic where we came from, and stuff that’s normal there—like those fancy things where your mother works—would be magic here. The words I want to use for those things that were normal where we came from don’t exist in this language.”

“I know what you mean,” Marty said, visualizing the MRI and CAT scan machines at the hospital. “We still know what we knew, but there are some things we can’t talk about. I was right. Something did mess with our minds.”

“It may still be,” Chandler said.

The boys woke the next morning to a steady rain. “This will last all day,” Masterfarmer Dorn said. “It will be good for the crops—and for the hedgerow.”

The rain didn’t stop all the work on the farm. Larry and Steve took Marty and Chandler to the barn where they spent a couple of hours sweeping the floor and spreading new straw.

“I think that’s all for today,” Larry said. “You guys ready to dash back to the house?”

“Um, I noticed there are some blankets in the hayloft,” Marty said.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “It’s kind of private, and when boys visit us, we go there to share…”

“Would you and Larry like to? Share, I mean,” Marty said. “Now? I mean, is it okay?”

Larry answered for both brothers. “We would like that, very much.”

*****

“Were you okay with Steve and me on the blanket beside you? I mean, it wasn’t like an orgy or anything,” Chandler asked Marty when they had a moment of privacy.

“It was a little uncomfortable, at first, but, well, once things got started, I just forgot that anyone else was there …”

*****

“New moon!” Larry announced. Several more days had passed. The boys had left the bathhouse and were about to enter the main house when Larry spoke. He pointed to a break in the trees through which they could see a thin—nearly invisible—crescent.

“Market in three days,” Steve added. Steve had learned to read puzzlement on Marty and Chandler’s faces. “You don’t have First Market where you live?”

“Uh, not really,” Marty said. He thought furiously. What’s he talking about? Oh! Like a farmers’ market. “I mean, yeah, there are farmers’ markets…people bring produce into town…but they’re like, every w…w…” I can’t say weekend! “Every tenday.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “There’s a market in Riverside every two tendays, but we only go to the first one of the month. Except sometimes, when Mother needs something.”

“Or Father wants to socialize,” Larry added.

Marty tugged Chandler’s hand, and drew him away from the other boys. A few words, and then agreement. Marty would tell the others. He made his announcement at the supper table. “You have all been very kind to us, but we must leave. We have to find out where we are, and how to get home.”

“What will you do?” the farmer asked.

“If we may, we’ll travel with you to Riverside. From there, we’ll walk to Barrone. It’s the closest city. We will look for someone who has maps, and try to learn where we are and how to get home,” Chandler said.

“You cannot go on the road with so little,” the masterfarmer said. He turned to Larry and Steve. “Take them to the chest. Give them what they need. Extra clothes...cloaks…and help them make quarterstaffs.”

“But this is too much…” Marty started, but the farmer held up his hand.

“A kindness is always repaid,” he said

*****

The family was up and on the road well before dawn. Larry explained that they couldn’t arrive too late in the day, or they’d find no market for their produce. “All the people who live closer would have flooded the market. Besides, the earlier we leave, the more time we have in Riverside.”

“We spend the first day selling our stuff, and the second looking around and buying what we need. Well, Mother does the buying while Father socializes. Unless we have to tote for Mother, we’re free to play…” Steve added.

“We camp outside the village. There’s a campground with a ball field and a mill pond where we can swim and bathe,” Robbie told them. He added, “Larry and Steve have to watch me; Mama said.”

The older boys had not gotten to sleep until quite late, after saying intimate good-byes, and napped in the back of the wagon. Robbie was disappointed that his brothers and their new friends wouldn’t play with him, but Steve quieted him with a promise to buy him candy when they reached Riverside.

*****

Success in battle requires maneuver, communications,
discipline, and a rehearsed set of tactics
that can be combined and sequenced to create surprise.
—Lawson of Arcadia

Marty and Chandler watched as Steve and Larry joined an ongoing game that resembled soccer. At first, it appeared that two teams of boys were competing to kick a leather ball through one of four goals. Players entered and left the game, seemingly at will, although neither Marty nor Chandler could discern how they identified themselves with one side or another.

Chandler’s face lit up, but instantly drooped. Marty asked, “What do you see?”

“It…it’s war, again,” Chandler said, softly. “The boys who drop out? They’re dead or injured because they missed a shot or allowed another player to come too close to them. There are two teams, but there are also teams within teams. The scrums? They’re not like rugby, where the goal is possession of the ball. They’re the real combat. All the other play is maneuver leading to the scrum. The goals aren’t for scoring. The real scoring is the outcome of the scrum.” He continued with his interpretation of the game, ending with, “It’s just like this world’s version of Canasta. I don’t think the boys realize it, but their play is preparing them for war. It’s like…did you ever hear that ‘the battles of the British Empire were won on the playing fields of Eaton’?”

Marty nodded. “Yeah. Only here, every boy attends Eaton.” He took the older boy’s hand in his. “I’m glad you’re here to protect me,” he added.

After three days of market, Larry and Steve’s family departed, southbound. Marty and Chandler said farewell, and began walking east on a wide, stone-paved road. The road was filled with farm families, whose horse- and ox-drawn wagons quickly passed the two boys. Late on the first day, a spring shower soaked them. They were preparing to spend a miserable night with sodden blankets when Chandler jumped up, grabbed the end of one blanket, and—with a burst of boy magic—shook it dry. “Why didn’t I think of this sooner! Hand me the other, would you, please?”

While Chandler dried the blankets, Marty magicked the water from their clothes. The saddlebag-backpacks had kept everything else dry.

“Do you suppose we could start a fire, too?” Chandler asked.

“Wouldn’t hurt to try,” Marty said, shaking and magicking water from some of the firewood he’d gathered.

Chandler bent over a tiny pile of shavings with the magnifying lens from his pocketknife.

“What…?” Marty started, then sat back and gasped. The clouds had parted after the shower, and a half-moon was nearly overhead. It looked to Marty as if a funnel above their heads was focusing moonlight onto the lens.

“Holy shit!” Chandler exclaimed and jumped back as the pile of shavings burst into flame and was consumed. “A little too much!”

Chandler’s next attempt was successful, and not nearly as dramatic. “I guess we need to learn control, huh?” he joked as he and Marty huddled together in front of the flames.

Warm and dry, Marty lay on his stomach while Chandler gently kneaded the muscles of the younger boy’s back. “Marty,” Chandler began, hesitantly, “do you really want to find a way home?”

Marty rolled over. “Do you not?” he asked. “Do you want to stay here?”

“Marty, I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life,” Chandler said. “Mostly, because of you. But also, because I finally know who I am. And, well, because I can do something incredible. The fire…I knew what I was doing…I knew that enough moonlight would be hot enough to start the fire, and that I could make that light concentrate where I wanted it. I bet I can do it without a…you know…”

Chandler stumbled over a word he could no longer say, and then asked, “What about you? What you did…healing Robbie…using magic. That’s pretty incredible, too. You can’t do that at home.”

“Yeah,” Marty said. “I was scared, and then excited. It felt good to be able to help. But I miss my mother…and I know she’s worried about me. Don’t you miss your family?”

“Not really,” Chandler said. “My father’s always gone…after he left the army he took a job as a civilian in the Middle East. They’re supposed to f…fl…fl… I can’t say it! They’re supposed to bring him home twice a year, but he takes the money, instead. I haven’t even seen him in four years. My mother…she’s too busy with her…her…her you know what. I don’t know her…and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know me, either.”

Chandler was quiet for so long Marty thought he’d fallen asleep. Then the boy spoke. His voice was a whisper, and Marty had to strain to hear. “I’m pretty sure my father knew I was gay even before I did. And that’s why he never comes home, anymore.”

*****

While the boys walked east, they shared what they had learned at the market. “I watched very carefully when Steve and Larry’s father took money and made change; and, the reason I volunteered to go shopping with their mother was so that I could see what she paid for different things,” Marty said. “These copper coins are pennies…but they’re worth a lot! Even at farmers’ market prices…he was selling eggplant for a penny a bushel; she was buying linen for a penny a yard. These silver ones…the little ones are shillings, the bigger ones are farthings, and they’re worth about 15 and 30 pennies…I couldn’t count fast enough to be sure. I didn’t see anyone using gold…those must be very valuable.

“And everyone bargained. No one paid the first asking price for anything…well, except when she bought us drinks. Big mugs of fruit juice, and they cost a florin, each…that’s half of a ha’penny. We don’t have any florins or ha’pennies.”

Chandler added his own observations. “Larry and Steve watched a dice game, for a while…and I watched the players making change. It was complicated…there’s a penny, and a tupence, which is two pennies; but a thruppence is three and a half cents…only they don’t say cents so it’s three pennies and a ha’penny. And a six-pence is really two thruppence, or seven pennies. I didn’t see any gold, and didn’t count fast enough the one time someone broke a silver piece. But you’re right…one of the boys sold another a belt…nice, tooled leather with a big steel buckle…for sixpence…it’d have cost twenty five dollars or more back home.”

*****

Barrone was said to be a tenday’s ride east of Riverside, and the boys hoped to be able to walk that distance in three tendays. They’d been on the road for a tenday, sleeping in the woods and living on the fish of which Chandler seemed never to tire, when they reached a village. It sat astride the road. Like Riverside, it was surrounded by stone walls, and was gated. Unlike Riverside, they were challenged when they approached the gate. A boy who appeared to be about 17 greeted them. He wore a tabard over tights and tunic, and a sword at his belt,

“Welcome to Ashton,” he said, eyeing them warily. “What are your names, and where are you from?”

Something told Chandler that he must not lie to this boy. “My name is Chandler; my friend is Marty. We have walked from Riverside; before that, we were living on a farm south of Riverside since leaving our own homes.”

The guard frowned, but continued. “And your destination?”

“We are bound for Barrone. We’d like to stay here for the night, if there’s a hostel?”

“There’s an inn, straight through town, just inside the eastern gate, on the right,” the boy said. “If you stay more than five days, you must register at the town hall. Do you swear not to act against Ashton or its citizens while in our town?”

“Yes, uh, I do,” Chandler said.

When Marty said nothing, the guard addressed him. “You must swear, too, unless he is your liege and speaks for you.”

“I swear,” Marty said.

When they reached the inn, Chandler bargained somewhat awkwardly with the innkeeper, who settled for two shillings sixpence for their bath, supper, a room, and breakfast the next morning.

When they reached their room, Chandler was able to say what had been on his mind since their arrival. “Marty, do you know that I couldn’t lie to the guard at the gate? As soon as he asked who we were and where we were from, I knew that I’d better not lie. I know that I didn’t tell him the whole truth, and that kind of bothered him, a little. What do you suppose was going on?”

“Back at the faire, when George and David…when they swore their oath, I felt something. I didn’t know what it was, then. Now, I’m pretty sure it was magic. When you swore the oath the guard asked, I felt the same thing. It’s like the wind blowing when there’s no wind. I felt it, too, when I swore. I think it was magic working. And it was probably magic that told the guard that we weren’t dangerous, and a truth magic that would tell the guard if we were lying.”

Chandler reached into his pocket. “Speaking of magic, look at this and tell me what you see,” he said, handing Marty the multi-tool knife with the magnifying lens extended.

“It’s the…the…the thing…but it’s not!” Marty said. “It’s just plain glass, and not very good either. It’s all bubbly. How long has it been like this?”

“I think, since we arrived,” Chandler said.

“But you’ve been using it to start fires,” Marty said.

“No, I don’t think so,” Chandler said, closing the knife and tucking it in his pocket. “Watch.” He concentrated and a funnel, centered on the window, seemed to draw the red light of the sunset to a point above the table. “I’m doing it without the…the thing…I can’t say it, either. It’s like the…the…the other stuff. It doesn’t belong here.”

“Wow,” Marty said, softly.

“Wow, back at you,” Chandler replied.

The following morning dawned cloudy, and rain threatened, but the boys were anxious to travel, and left the inn just after breakfast. They did not notice that another patron of the inn eyed them as they left and, after a leisurely breakfast, mounted his horse and followed them down the eastern road.

The innkeeper’s wife had pressed them to take bread and cheese, which Marty put in his pack. “My husband should not have taken advantage of you last night. The custom should have been no more than two shillings. If you boys are going to be traveling far, you’ll need to watch your money more closely than that!”

After several hours of walking, the boys stopped by the side of the road for lunch. The promised rain had not fallen, but the sky was still overcast. They had nearly finished the bread and cheese when a horseman appeared in the west. The boys watched with curiosity as he approached and with a little alarm when he stopped and dismounted.

The man wore a travel cloak of dirty gray, which flapped open to reveal a sword. Both boys got to their feet as the man walked toward them. Not thinking, they did not pick up the quarterstaffs that they had put on the ground beside themselves.

“You boys have fine packs; I’ve not seen work like that, before,” the man said. “I’ll have them.”

“I’m sorry,” Chandler said, “they’re not for sale.”

“For sale! Who said anything about buying them?” The man rushed Chandler and slammed him against the tree behind him. Chandler gasped as the man knocked the wind out of him. Marty grabbed the man’s left hand and prepared to roll backward as he’d learned in one of his martial arts classes. As soon as Marty touched the man, however, the man screamed. His voice dropped to a moan. Marty felt the man’s hand shrinking. There was a gust of fetid air as the man’s cloak dropped to the ground. A skull rolled from beneath the cloak, shedding flesh that shriveled when it touched the ground.

Marty dropped the few bones that were left of the man’s hand, and rushed to Chandler. He stopped short, hesitant to touch his friend. Chandler reached out and took Marty’s hands. Marty gasped in horror, but Chandler smiled as he pulled himself up. “That was incredible, Marty,” he said. “You saved my life.”

“But, but…” Marty gasped and stuttered, “He’s dead. I killed him. I know…I saw magic leaving him; I saw my hand pulling his magic away…I killed him! Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Marty reverted to a childhood mantra.

Chandler held Marty close as the boy sobbed over and over, “I killed him. I just killed him.” When Marty’s sobs stopped, Chandler wiped the tears from the boy’s eyes.

“Look,” he said, releasing Marty and bending down to pull aside the dead man’s cloak. “His dagger…it was in his hand, and headed for my heart. He was trying to kill me, Marty. You saved my life. If anyone is to blame for his death, it is he.”

*****

“Do you suppose anyone will recognize his horse? Should we take it?” Marty asked.

“The horse’s markings are pretty distinctive…and the horse is a lot finer than the draft animals that the farmers had. It might be risky…maybe we should just let it go. It can find forage and water in the woods. I want to keep his sword and dagger, though,” Chandler said.

“Oh…I don’t know…I’m not sure you should wear the sword…do you know how to use one?”

“No…and until I do, I won’t wear it. In fact, I’ll wrap it up in the saddle blanket…well enough that it won’t seem to be a sword…but a lot of people…our age…were wearing swords…and I think, somehow, we’d better learn…Here, you should wear his dagger…everybody—every boy and man—has a dagger.”

Marty shrank back from the proffered weapon. “No! I don’t want to touch it…it was his!”

Chandler shrugged, and took the Bowie knife from his belt. “Then you take mine, and I’ll wear his. I think it’s fitting that it should belong to one he tried to kill.”