Master of Fire - 9. Conflict...

Moonlight, dappled by clouds drifting across the sky, washed Marty’s body. He stood on the roof, screened by the parapet and invisible to the celebrants in the courtyard, below. It was the night of the summer solstice. The day had been filled with light and magic. The public square in front of the college had been a center of the city’s celebration. Masters had entertained with illusions. Rudy had amazed children with a selection of poppers—some of which he had created. Chandler, under the careful eye of Master Fitzgerald, had entertained the crowd by juggling balls of fire that appeared and disappeared mysteriously between his hands. Marty had watched for a while, and had attended supper at the college, but then had retreated to the solitude of the roof. There had been no call for healing, and even if there were, Marty thought, who would want a boy healer who can hardly do any more than first aid without risking himself and the patient—and everyone around them? Marty’s lessons at the temple were not going well. He could not do the simplest spells. Oh, he had power, but it was uncontrolled, and therefore dangerous. Now, alone on the rooftop, he moped.

Marty jumped at the sound of footsteps crunching the pebbles that covered the roof. “Marty?” Chandler’s whisper carried over the sounds of revelry, below. “What’s wrong?”

“How did you find me?” Marty demanded, answering Chandler with another question.

“Rudy saw you on the stairs. What’s wrong?” Chandler asked, again.

“What’s wrong? Why does something have to be wrong?” Marty said. “I didn’t do anything, so how could I do anything wrong?” His voice was bitter.

Chandler wrapped his arms around Marty and hugged the smaller boy to him. Marty struggled. “No!” he cried. “No!”

Chandler tightened his hold, and would not release the boy. “Marty, Marty, please don’t. Please…stop…look at me…oh, Marty!” Chandler’s voice broke.

Marty stopped struggling. “You’re crying,” he declared.

“Nah, it’s just allergies,” Chandler managed to choke out before a deep sob rose from his chest, caught for a moment in his throat, and then exploded from his mouth, giving lie to that statement.

“What’s wrong?” Marty asked. His voice was barely a whisper.

“You’re unhappy,” Chandler said.

“No, I mean, what’s wrong with you?” Marty insisted.

“I love you, and you’re unhappy,” Chandler repeated. “That’s what’s wrong.”

“Oh,” Marty said. He was silent for several very long moments. “Chandler, I love you, too. I don’t want to hurt you. Please don’t be sad for my sake.”

“It’s not sad,” Chandler said. He’d loosened his hold on Marty, but neither boy seemed ready to step out of the embrace. “It’s…it’s so much more than sad. It’s agony. It’s I can’t eat or sleep. It’s…” Chandler’s voice trailed off.

Marty pushed the boy away. “It didn’t seem to stop you from showing off today, mister master of fire.

“Oh, shit. I didn’t mean that…Chandler! I didn’t mean it!” Marty called to Chandler’s back. The older boy had turned and was walking away. Marty ran after him, and grabbed the blood-red costume tunic Chandler still wore. In the moonlight, the cloth was dead black. Chandler stopped. “I didn’t mean it,” Marty whispered. “I didn’t mean it.”

“No?” Chandler asked. His voice was flat. Marty wasn’t even sure if Chandler meant his reply to be a question.

“No,” Marty sniffled.

“You’re crying,” Chandler said.

“It’s just allergies?” Marty whispered. “It’s just…Chandler, I love you, too. Please don’t…please don’t walk away.”

Chandler turned. This time, the boys’ embrace was mutual, warm, and well-lubricated by each other’s tears.

*****

Marty and Chandler sat upon the parapet, their legs dangled over the sixty feet of empty space between them and the courtyard, below. Marty’s arm was around Chandler’s waist; Chandler’s arm was on Marty’s shoulder. “So, Rudy ratted me out,” Marty said.

“He didn’t know he was tattling,” Chandler said. “Are you okay, now?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Marty said. He and Chandler had talked for hours, it seemed. Chandler understood Marty’s frustration at how slowly he learned the magic that, to Chandler, came so easily. It’s not jealousy, Chandler thought. I’m so glad. I don’t think I could have dealt with that. He’s actually proud of me. Of me! No one’s ever been proud of me, before. Not my mother and certainly not my father. I’m so glad I found Marty. He squeezed Marty.

“Then, tomorrow, we talk to Master Fitzgerald. Starting tomorrow, we will all concentrate on your training…” Chandler began.

“No,” Marty interrupted. “Starting tomorrow, you continue your training to be a master of fire. I will continue learning what I can. Starting tomorrow, I will stop worrying about what I can’t do, and work on what I can do. That’s what is right, Chandler, and I’m okay with it.”

*****

Marty burst through the front door of the college, startling Rudy who had duty at the desk. “It’s war!” he gasped. “The prince has declared war on Eblis.” Marty leaned against the wall, panting.

Rudy stood, “Watch the door, will you? I’ll go tell Master—”

Marty interrupted. “Is that water?” He gestured to a jug on the desk. When Rudy nodded, Marty gulped water, spilling on his tunic and the floor. Rudy frowned and gestured; the water on Marty’s tunic flew off—and fell onto the floor.

“Oh, sh—” Rudy said. His eyes widened; he swallowed what he’d been about to say. Marty followed Rudy’s stare and saw the Baron of Barrone standing in the doorway. A maniple of soldiers was visible over his shoulders.

“I see you’ve heard the news,” the baron said. “Have you informed Master Fitzgerald?” Marty and Rudy could do nothing but shake their heads. “Then, will you take me to him?” the baron asked.

“I’ll watch the door,” Marty whispered to Rudy, urging him to escort the baron. Rudy’s eyes flashed panic, and then understanding. Rudy was Master Fitzgerald’s senior apprentice; he would be included in the meeting. And, Rudy would remember and relate what he heard far better than Marty could.

*****

In the years that Marty and Chandler had been at the college, the number of apprentices had slowly grown from five to ten; two journeymen from Arcadia had arrived; and the number of masters had grown from four to seven. Now, those numbers would swell tenfold, perhaps more. That had been the gist of the baron’s discussion with Master Fitzgerald. “They are friends,” Rudy said. “Master Fitzgerald and the Baron. I guess I knew that, but it didn’t seem important…they never visited one another. But that’s why the baron came himself, he said. We’re going to be a cad…cadre.” Rudy stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

“What’s that?” Alvin asked. He, as well as the group who considered themselves the “old boys,” had assembled in Master Fitzgerald’s workshop. Jacob, Dennis, and Cody were there, as were Marty and Chandler. An Elven Tween, Nazrie, although not one of the earliest students, had arrived shortly after Marty and Chandler. The others had given him membership in their clique. He was there, as well.

“It means we’re in the army,” Chandler answered Alvin’s question. “The cadre are the experienced soldiers who train the new recruits.”

“Partly correct,” Master Fitzgerald said. He’d entered the workshop in time to hear what Chandler had said. “You will not be in the army—although some of you will certainly be called into the field with the army. But that will not be soon. No, for now, you will be a cadre for new students at the college. You will welcome boys to the college—some will be apprentices, others perhaps journeymen—show them around the school and the city. You will help them obtain clothing and bedding, pens and ink, all the things you take for granted…” Master Fitzgerald’s voice trailed off as if he only now realized the great magnitude of the task ahead.