Book of Heroes: George of Sedona I - 12. Best Friends

Chapter 12: Best Friends

…come hither; here we’ll sit
Beneath the leaves, where shepherds sit and oaks
Spread their broad boughs…
—Theocritus, The Song of Thyssis

George and Arthur sat under a tree. A brook ran through the meadow where they had stopped to rest the horses and were letting them crop fresh grass as a reward. George sat in Arthur’s lap. Arthur wrapped his arms around the boy, and George rested his head on Arthur’s chest.

“Arthur,” the boy asked, “what does Gary mean when he talks about a best friend?”

“It means a lot of things, George,” Arthur said as he stroked the boy’s unruly, black hair. “Do you know the fairy tale from your world, about a scullery maid—her name was Ashputtel, but she’s usually called Cinderella—who dreamed that a Prince Charming would come and take her to his castle to live happily ever after?”

When the boy nodded, Arthur continued. “Most boys on this world live very plain lives. Boys who travel through gates between worlds, who find sky-stones, who visit new towns—and countries—, who hold a red-hot sword in their hands without being burned, boys who do the things you are doing…well, that’s very unusual.

“Most boys are born to farmers, and become farmers; or are born to smiths and become smiths. Many boys dream of an older boy—a tween—who will come to their home or town or farm, and carry them away to adventure, to a castle or a palace. They dream of a handsome boy, who will share boy magic with them. They dream of something that is bigger and better and more exciting than their ordinary lives.

“That doesn’t happen very often. For most boys, a best friend will be simply a tween with whom the boy swears blood oath or brotherhood. They’ll share boy magic; they may have a crush on each other…”

“Like I had a crush on Kevin,” George whispered. Arthur hugged the boy tightly as sobs wracked his body, then bent down and kissed the tears from George’s cheeks.

“I’m glad you can mourn your friend,” Arthur said when George stopped crying. “You haven’t, really, until now, have you?”

“No,” George said. “Not really. I’ve cried, but mostly, I’ve been feeling sorry for myself.”

“Can you let him go, now?” Arthur asked.

George thought for a while. “Is it really true that he’s not dead, and that we will meet again sometime?”

“I know what happens to people in this world. Our spirits don’t die. We are born again and again in different bodies, and if we truly love someone, we will see them again in another life. Maybe not the next one, but definitely in another one. I’m pretty sure that applies to good friends—even boys we have a crush on—too. I don’t know about Kevin, though. I don’t know about the souls of the people in your world. I cannot help but believe that this applies to them, too. I just cannot—I will not—imagine a world so dark that you and Kevin would be separated forever.”

“Arthur,” George asked, “are you my best friend?”

Arthur’s voice was barely a whisper. “George, I’m not sure I will be allowed to be your best friend…and I’m not sure it would be safe for you.”

“What do you mean?” George asked. Fear caused his voice to tremble a little.

“Do you know what a catspaw is?”

“Yeah, it’s a knot…one of my uncles was a scout master, so I was in scouts for the year I lived with him,” George answered. “But…?” The boy was clearly puzzled.

“A catspaw is also a tool, or a dupe; it’s someone who is used by another person, usually to do that person’s dirty work. The name comes from an old story about a monkey who cut off a cat’s paw and used it to pull hot chestnuts from a fire…

“Somehow I’ve become a catspaw in the forever fight between Light and Dark. Do you remember what I said about destiny being the strongest force in this world?” Arthur asked.

“Yes, you said that you sometimes didn’t have a choice, but had to do something…that’s why we move around so much, and why it’s dangerous to be with you,” George replied. “That doesn’t mean that you can’t be my best friend. Unless your destiny says you can’t…”

Arthur groped for the right words. “I knew…and I hope that you understood…when you came to this world with me that our destinies would be tied together—for better or worse—at least for a while. I’m not sure that I’m destined to have an easy life, or to live in peace. You know that I attract danger. You know that the Black Elf who followed us isn’t the first person I’ve had to kill. The landslide in the mountains probably wasn’t an accident. I felt a death among the rocks. It’s likely that I killed the person who started the landslide when I blasted the rocks.

“I believe destiny brought us together; I am afraid that someday destiny may also separate us. Until that happens, though, I will be your best friend…if you want it,” Arthur said.

George hugged the tall tween. “Oh, Arthur, I do want it. I want it so bad. I love you so much.”

“I love you, George,” Arthur said, surprising himself as he did so. That’s the first time I’ve ever said that, he though. And I know that I mean it.

*****

“Gary wants to be apprenticed to you,” Master Smith Edgar said to Arthur. “It’s not just infatuation. I thought that, at first. It’s not just gratitude for the chance you have given him to have normal legs and feet, although there’s some of that. It’s not just hero worship, although there’s some of that, too. No, under all that is a serious desire. He wants more than I can offer him, here. There’s no mage of any stature here. There’s the temple…they train healers and fighters: Warrior-Clerics, they call them. But that’s not what he wants. He knows he has a born talent, but he wants more. He wants to be trained as a mage.

“He can’t stay here in Bowling Green. The boys in his cohort shunned him when he was a cripple; he has no friends, and he’d rightly suspect any who approached him now. He’d have to leave here, anyway. I know that you won’t be here forever…there’s something about you that won’t allow you to stay in one place for long.

“You’ve already done so much for my family. The tweens now know more about smithing than I did at their age, and they’re excited about learning more. I’ve always had trouble getting them to study. They thought it was all just fire and fury. But you got them thinking about the soul of the metal. I found them drawing charts the other day—talking about making bronze with a trace of mithral. They have all sorts of ideas what to do with the leftover mithral George gave them. Anyway, you’ve done so much; I am reluctant to ask more of you.

“I can pay you apprentice fee…” The smith’s voice drifted off.

Arthur chose his words carefully, “Master Edgar, where I travel there will be grave danger. That is why George needs the sword you made for him, and why I spend part of each day teaching him to use it. At some time, George and I will have to leave here. We may never return. Never. If Gary were to come with us, he’d need weapons and training in their use. Half a year of training, at least, before he wouldn’t be a danger to himself. And that only after his feet completed healing. He’d need a horse, and he’d need to know how to ride it…at a gallop with a sword in one hand. If this frightens you…?”

“No. It does not. We’ve raised the boys in the Light, and neither they nor I fear danger or death. You answered too quickly, my young friend. You had already thought about this, hadn’t you?” the smith asked.

Arthur ducked his head, and then looked the smith in the eye. “Yes, I had. I recognized Gary’s talent, his innate magic, and thought about how to train him to use the great magic…and thought it a shame that he would first have to learn to fight…since otherwise he could not come with us.”

“We are then on the horns of the bull,” the smith said, “or are we? Must you leave? Or, would you—and George, of course—come to live here? For as long as you can and want. We have a stable, a large court sheltered from the wind that would serve for weapons training. This smithy once had three separate forges, and there’s room for five times the number of people who live here. It’s as if there were several families living here, although I know it’s been in my family since…well, that’s neither here nor there.

“I would provide room and board for you all; Gary would have no family duties, but would be apprenticed to you for training in weapons and magic as you see fit. We—my boys and I—will make his weapons…as fine as we can…as fine as can be made…and I will buy him a horse. You must help select, but there are no finer horses in World than in Bowling Green. When we agree that Gary is ready, you will leave, and he will leave with you—under oath and bond. If Gary cannot learn what he must in the time you have, then we cancel the apprenticeship. Have I forgotten anything?”

“You had already thought about this,” Arthur said, “hadn’t you? You answered too quickly.” He smiled as he spoke, and the smith returned the smile.

*****

“George, would you like Gary to join us as a companion?” Arthur’s words brought a start, then a smile to the boy’s face.

“Yes,” he said enthusiastically. “I would like that very much.”

“Would you accept…think what that means before you answer…would you accept that I would treat him as I treat you? That you would share my time with him? Would you accept that I would cherish him as I cherish you? Would you cherish him as I cherish you?” Arthur held his breath, but only for an instant.

“Of course…I mean, ‘yes,’ absolutely, ‘yes.’ ” George said. Arthur hugged the boy, and then went to give Edgar and Gary the news.

That afternoon, Eddie showed George, Arthur, and Gary to their room. For Arthur and George’s benefit, he explained the layout of the house. “You can get to the part of the house where we live through this door…see, here’s the hallway outside our room…we hope you’ll still share with us, too…Of course, the boys’ bath is down there—so you’ll have to come here, anyway. These steps go to the courtyard…Father said you’d be practicing there a lot. May we watch, sometimes? Here’s your room … Mother and Sister cleaned it up today, and put in fresh bedding. This part of the house hasn’t been used since Spring Market … we take in boarders, just like everyone in town.”

Formal training started the next morning. “Gary, while your legs heal, and you learn to walk and run, we’re going to start learning magic. Both you and George have some inborn magical skills…innate magic, it’s called. That will help. You both already know some spells, even though you may not know that you know them. You will learn about what lies behind magic, and you will learn how consciously to manipulate magic.

“George will also continue to learn sword, quarterstaff, and bow. Gary, you will start now with the bow, and learn sword and quarterstaff as your legs and feet finish healing. We’ll also practice horsemanship. As soon as we find a horse for Gary, we’ll go riding at least every other day.

“Gary, can you read?” Arthur asked.

When the boy shook his head, Arthur added, “Then you’ll learn to read, as well. And write.”

George and Gary looked a bit stunned. Arthur sat down between them, and put one arm around each boy. “You’re going to have to help me with this. There’s a big difference between knowing something and teaching it.”

The boys returned his hugs.

“In the first place,” Arthur continued, “magic isn’t arcane. That is, magic isn’t something mysterious and invisible. It’s something that we can see, hear, smell, and touch. Or, you will be able to when you develop Mage Sight. George already can hear magic and see some magic. Gary, you will learn to, as well.

“In the second place, magic is energy. It can do things just as you use energy—strength—to do things. Just as you can lift something with your hand, you can lift it with magic.” As he said this, Arthur lifted one of George’s chess pieces—which had been a gift from Gary—with his left hand while gesturing with his right hand at another piece that rose several inches above the chessboard. Arthur lowered both pieces to their positions on the board.

“Just like the wind has power to move things, so does magic,” Arthur said as he blew a bit of foolscap from the palm of his left hand while another piece, impelled by magic, flew from the other.

“Until a magic user does something, magic doesn’t do anything. But when the magic user—a mage, healer, cleric; a smith or other craftsman—directs magic, it can blow a leaf across a courtyard, or destroy a mountain, or heal a child of the gray disease—what George knows as polio—and many other wonderful and dreadful things.

“Gary, you use magic instinctively. You were born with an ability to gather and control magic. You’ve also learned some Smith Magic from your father, and by watching him and your brothers work at the forge. You’ve learned to gather magic by moving your arms and fingers, and you’ve learned to direct the magic to do things for you…like welding a gemstone into a ring.

“Gary also learned from his brothers how to use boy magic. They didn’t sit down as we are now, and lecture him. They used their boy magic to bathe Gary before he was old enough to have his own magic. By the time he was old enough to gather and share boy magic, he knew what to do. Your mother and sister use girl magic as they do the housework and cook and weave and knit. Gary saw what they were doing and learned more about magic. Everyone in this world uses magic to some extent, and most of what most people know about magic comes from imitation and unconscious learning from parents and older siblings.

“George was also born with an innate ability to use magic. However, while Gary lived in a world where magic was used by everyone, almost no one in George’s world used magic. So, George’s talent took the form of hearing sounds. On this world, George has learned how to use boy magic, and some about how to use the great magic.

“Now, both of you are going to learn how to consciously use the great magic. But first, you have to see it. I want both of you to see it, together, now.”

Arthur limned the lines of force with light until they coruscated in the dimness of the room. As the boys watched, he moved his hands among the lines, gathering their energy.

When Arthur released the energy back into the field, and turned up the lantern, George spoke. “That was beautiful; it sounded like a harp.”

“That’s another important lesson, for later. Magic makes noise, and part of using magic is controlling the noise.”

A week later, with the smith’s permission, Arthur had filled one of the unused forges with charcoal, and was conducting a class in Heat Magic.

“When a smith heats a work-piece in the forge, he may direct heat to the piece by willing or pulling heat from the lower layers of charcoal. When he removes the piece from the forge and begins working it on the anvil, he may also pull heat from the forge to keep the piece hot and malleable. I think that most smiths see the heat, and believe that they are pulling the heat directly from one place to another.

Arthur gathered magic and bundled it into a tight tube. He gestured one end of the tube into the forge. “See the heat, it’s the dark red blur, and see how quickly it moves to the end of the tube? Now…” he bent the tube, stretched it, until it reached a stick of kindling he’d placed on the anvil. Instantly, the wood burst into flame.

“Wow,” Gary breathed, opening his eyes to see the fire with mundane sight.

“Wow, again,” George whispered.

“Heat will flow on its own from a hot place to a cold place, but that we have to force heat to flow from a cold place to a hot place.” The boys nodded.

“Focus, again, please,” Arthur said. When the boys signaled that they could see, he again formed a tube of magical force, connecting one end to the cold anvil and the other end to the hot forge.

“See the heat flow from hot to cold? Watch…” Arthur cast a net of magic around the cold forge, drew it tight, saw it fill with heat, and pushed the heat from the anvil to the forge. He then released the magic back into the matrix. The boys’ eyes widened as they saw frost gather on the now icy-cold anvil.

Neither boy succeeded the first time he tried. In fact, both worked at it for several hours before they could create a magical conduit for the heat.

“That’s enough for today. You both did very well,” Arthur told the exhausted boys. “Tomorrow it will be easier. When you can create a conduit without effort, we’ll work on forcing heat from a cold place to a hot place.”

“How big can the tube be?” George asked. “And how long?”

“As big and as long as you can control,” Arthur answered. “The better a mage you are, the more you practice, the more powerful you become, the better you can concentrate, the bigger and longer the tube you can make.”

“Can one end be big, and the other small?” the boy continued.

“Yes,” Arthur answered. You can make the conduit like a funnel, and use it to focus the heat into a small place, or diffuse it into a large place.

“Then I could—if I were strong enough—take the heat from a volcano and focus it onto a town a hundred miles away?” Gary entered the conversation.

“You could. Heat can be a terrible weapon. Used that way, it’s called Mage-Fire.”

*****

Arthur had insisted that Gary walk on his healing feet, even though it pained the boy. Arthur did not use magic or herbs to alleviate the pain, however. In response to Master Edgar’s question, he explained that the nerves in Gary’s feet and legs needed to rebuild, just as the muscles and bones were rebuilding, and that the pain was necessary as the boy’s body etched new nerve paths and learned to control the re-arranged muscles, tendons, and bones.

“I hate to see Gary suffer, too,” Arthur said, “but he must feel his new legs and feet, and for a while, that feeling will be wrapped in pain.”

Arthur was, therefore, especially delighted on the morning when Gary ran from the building into the exercise yard, where Arthur and George were sparring. “It doesn’t hurt!” the boy exclaimed. “It doesn’t hurt, today. Look, I can run!”

*****

“Gary, it’s time to start sword drill, and you need a practice sword,” Arthur began. “You’re smaller than many of the people you might have to fight. I think you have two choices. A short sword will allow you to strike faster and may draw your opponent toward you where he may be at a disadvantage. A long, light sword might keep an opponent away from you, but would lack the power of a shorter, wider blade. We’ll try several and see.”

There was a dusting of snow on the ground as Arthur, George, and Gary walked toward the market. Their objective was to select a practice sword for Gary.

“But father is the best sword maker in Bowling Green,” Gary had protested at breakfast as plans were being made. “Won’t people think I’m…well…that something’s wrong if I buy a sword in the market?”

Master Edgar had chuckled, “No, son. There are only four swords in the shop, and those are there because they were ordered and not paid for. They were all made for men much bigger and stronger than you. The armorers in the market will have scores of swords. None will be as fine as the one we make for you…when you know the length and weight and balance that are right for you. Arthur will help you choose something to beat up in practice.”

With Arthur’s guidance, Gary had selected a long, thin sword with a simple guard and was busy hacking away at an oaken post set up in the armorer’s stall for that purpose.

“Go ahead, lad, hit it!” the armorer encouraged. “There are more trees in the forest than that one!”

Gary beat at the stump with vigor, but Arthur shook his head. “Too long and too light. Let’s try something shorter, and broader.”

Six swords later, Arthur nodded as Gary cut a chunk from the practice post. “How does that feel, Gary,” he asked.

Gary chipped another chunk of wood from the post and grinned at Arthur. “It feels good.”

While Arthur and the armorer dickered over a price for the sword, Gary ran into the square where George had been watching a juggler, to tell him the news.

Arthur had come prepared to bargain, and had brought one of the swords from Mastersmith Edgar’s workshop. A member of the City Guard had put a deposit on the sword but had died before the work was completed. The sword had hung in the shop for decades. “It’s worth at least 10 guineas,” Edgar had told Arthur, “but I’ll never get that for it. He paid for the steel before he died. I’m not out anything but the work. If you can get a decent practice sword in return, I’d be happy.”

Arthur left the armorer’s tent with the sword, a poniard, and a belt-and-clip for the sword. The armorer had recognized the quality of the Master Smith’s work. “I’ll tell you true…I know someone in Forest Green who will buy this sword at full price…and I’ll be there for market in another month. I think I’ve made a good bargain.”

“And I think I’ve made a good bargain, as well,” Arthur said. “Light to you.”

Arthur walked from the armorer’s carrying Gary’s sword. A group of boys had gathered around Gary and George. Over the hubbub of the market came the unmistakable sounds of teasing. Arthur instantly recognized the singsong cadence that was universal among boys of many worlds. The mood wasn’t ugly, but it was quickly getting that way. As he neared the gaggle of boys, some of the words became clear: monster and cripple were among them.

Arthur gathered magic and wove it about himself. As he walked toward the circle of boys, the ones nearest him unconsciously stepped aside, allowing him to pass. Arthur walked between the boys, registering only subliminally on their perceptions, until he was in the center of the circle. When he released the spell, the boys caught sight of him. Their voices dropped to whispers, and then silence.

George and Gary stood together, holding one another. Gary’s face was twisted in pain; George’s face was flushed with anger. Arthur couldn’t tell if George were holding Gary to comfort him, or if Gary were holding George to keep him from drawing his sword against the other boys.

Arthur held the naked sword by the hilt, with the blade pointed straight up. A twist of the magic field brought a firefall of sunlight to cascade along the edges of the blade. Several boys gasped; then all were still.

“Gary,” Arthur’s voice filled the silence, “In service of the Light, this sword is yours.”

Gary’s face glowed even brighter than the sun as he received the weapon from Arthur’s hand. George took the belt that Arthur handed to him, and clasped it around Gary’s waist, giving the boy a hug in the process. Gary carefully clipped the sword to the belt. Arthur took the boys’ hands and led them through the stunned crowd.

As the three walked away, the boys who had daggers fingered them, wistfully. None spoke, but their thoughts were the same: Gary, the crippled son of the smith, was the first to get a sword. And the tween who gave it to him…I hope my best friend will be that beautiful!