The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) (47 page)

‘Argh! Sounds terrible! You should have stayed here with me. Our adventures were never the same without you. But look at your strange city clothes!’ Tom declared. ‘And where are you off to now?’

‘I don’t really know,’ Samuel admitted. ‘But I shall find out, as soon as I get there.’

They chatted a little more, but Samuel soon felt himself longing to leave. It was wonderful to see Tom again, but the whole atmosphere in Stable Waterford had him feeling uncomfortable. Remembering his past had turned out to be more of a painful experience than he could have foretold. He shortly made an excuse and promised to come back again soon when he could.

Stepping outside, the village now seemed altogether small and empty. Years of city living made his childhood village seem remote and lifeless. So it was for only a few hours that Samuel had remained in Stable Waterford.

He had passed by his family’s home and waited for several long minutes at the end of the road. It looked overgrown and long unused and the thought of seeing the place of his childhood had been all too alarming, so he had urged Jess on with a flick of the reins and a kick of his heels, and he turned his back on the place where his family had all been killed.

After a long and uncomfortable journey across nearly all the lands of the southeast, crossing rivers, hills, mountains and valleys, Samuel came to the unmistakable conclusion that he was quite lost. According to the last directions he had received, he should have arrived in Gilgarry well before noon, but it was now getting dark and he was still winding around barren hilltops, with no hint of human habitation in sight. He drew Jess to a halt and twisted in his saddle to look all around. The sky to the west was a pale rose as the sun was just settling into the valley. The wind was making a soft sigh upon the rocks and everything seemed peaceful in the dim dusk light. As Samuel sat atop Jess and absorbed the scene, a movement on the hillside caught his eye. A figure was clambering up towards the roadway and so Samuel clicked his tongue and shook the reins, setting Jess ahead at a walk.

As Samuel neared, he could see it was an old man, and he was climbing the hillside with obvious difficulty, grunting and struggling, sending cascades of rocks and stones clattering away below him. Samuel dropped down and hurried towards him as carefully as he could.

‘Ho!’ he called. ‘Old man, what are you doing there? Let me help you.’

The man was puffing and gratefully offered his arm to Samuel. Together, they made their way back up to the roadway, where the old fellow dropped down onto his backside for a rest.

‘Many thanks to you,’ he said, puffing and wheezing. ‘I thought I’d never make it.’

Samuel eyed the old man’s leg and he could see at once his aura was pulsing around an injury. ‘What have you done to yourself, old man?’ Samuel asked. ‘How did you hurt yourself like that?’

The man took a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wiped at his glistening brow. When he had enough breath he managed to speak. ‘I took quite a fall crossing the gully. I’m not as spry as I once was, would you believe it? Once I’m home, I’ll be right. Mrs Down will take care of it.’

‘Where do you live?’ Samuel asked, surveying the hilltops. ‘There’s no house or home in sight of here.’

‘A little way further,’ the old man responded. ‘Once I rest here a time, I’ll go a bit further. Soon enough, I’ll be there.’

The old man looked fit to drop dead already and Samuel was in need of some lodging for the night so he decided to help the man back to his home. ‘Then perhaps I can offer you some assistance. I’m in no particular hurry and, if you can hop on top of old Jess here, it will save you a lot of trouble. I was heading for Gilgarry, but I seem to be a little lost.’

The man guffawed. ‘Lost you are, all right. You missed Gilgarry half a day ago. You’re just on the outskirts of Lenham. I’ll tell you what. If you can get me home, Mrs Down will fix you a hot dinner and a bed for the evening. How does that sound?’

Samuel could not help but smile. ‘That’s exactly what I was hoping for. I think you’ll be helping me much more than I’m helping you.’

The old man held up his knotty hand. ‘Glad to be of service. Simpson Down.’

‘Samuel,’ Samuel responded and they grabbed each other’s fists and shook. The old man’s grip was as strong as iron.

‘Well,’ old Simpson said. ‘No time like the present.’

He started to get up and Samuel offered his shoulder, helping the old man over to Jess. Samuel mounted first and then helped pull Simpson up behind him. The horse was not so pleased with the load. She snorted and pulled her ears back with annoyance.

‘Back the way you came,’ Simpson instructed. ‘I’ll show you the way.’

Jess had carried them only a short way before Simpson pointed up a narrow, twisting path that Samuel had not even noticed the first time past. It was well dark before a light came into view, and Samuel was sure it would have taken Simpson half the night to crawl home in his current state.

The farm was high on a hill and looked out over the smaller hills and valleys all around. Other small lights could be seen afar where odd farmhouses spotted the occasional hilltop. Cows and goats stood idly in the paddocks, bleating occasionally in the moonlight. An old donkey glanced towards them forlornly from where it was tethered beside the house. The door flew open as they approached and an elderly woman, rotund at the waist and flushed in the cheeks, came rushing out.

‘Goodness gracious me, Mr Down!’ she called out. ‘You had me worried half to death! What have you done to yourself?’

‘No need to worry, Mrs Down,’ Simpson protested, and gingerly lowered himself down from Jess’ back. When his injured leg took his weight, he winced and nearly fell down, but Mrs Down picked him up in a flash.

Samuel dismounted and came to Simpson’s other side, and they helped him hop towards the house.

‘I thought the Molgoms had taken you, for sure,’ Mrs Down went on. Samuel had no idea what a
Molgom
was, but she went on. ‘Thank you, young man,’ she said to him. ‘I can’t thank you enough for helping poor old Simpson home.’

‘Yes, you can,’ Simpson responded as they edged him through the doorway, ‘by fixing us both some dinner. And he’ll be staying the night.’

Mrs Down took a start at this. ‘But look at the state of this place! We’re in no state to take a guest.’

They dropped Simpson into a chair and Samuel looked around the room. It was very simple, having a stove in one corner and a table and a few chairs in the middle. There was one other door to the side, which presumably led to their bedroom. Everything was tidy, but in desperate need of some maintenance.

‘No need to worry, Mrs Down,’ Samuel told her. ‘I’m quite happy just to sleep on the floor, and then I’ll be off again in the morning.’

‘See, Woman?’ Simpson said. ‘He’s quite happy. No need to make a fuss.’

‘Simpson!’ she retorted and went over to the stove and began throwing some more hunks of wood into it. A large pot was set on top, which was simmering and bubbling and giving off a delicious smell. She then rushed back and bent down by Simpson, pulling up his trouser leg and inspecting the angry red graze on his shin. ‘How did you manage this, Mr Down?’

‘Just mend it, Woman,’ he told her. ‘I’ve got no time to argue with you with about it.’

Mrs Down took some hot water from atop the stove. She dipped a cloth into it, wrung it out and then set to work washing her husband’s leg. Finally, she wrapped the wound in another boiled cloth along with some herbs she had pulled from her tins, while Simpson leaned over and took a pipe from the table and set to work puffing on it. Samuel could see it was quite a deep injury and it would take the old man some time before he could get about on his own once more.

When Mrs Down was happy with her work, and Simpson was happily puffing out smoke, she fetched them both a large bowl of stew from her stove top. Samuel sat at the table and began eating heartily. The stew tasted as good as it smelled, being thick with carrots, potatoes and some other curious vegetables he could not even begin to name.

‘So,’ Mrs Down said, finally sitting herself down to eat, ‘where were you headed when you saved my poor old husband here?’

‘His name is Samuel,’ Simpson interrupted, with stew on his lips and chin. ‘He was headed for Gilgarry and got a mite misdirected.’

Mrs Down nodded. ‘What are you doing in Gilgarry then, Samuel,’ she asked, ‘if you don’t mind me asking? We don’t get many folk from the capital out here.’

Samuel was surprised. ‘How did you know I was from Cintar?’ he asked.

‘It’s written all over you, lad—on your clothes and in your tongue. Even though we don’t get many out here, Imperials are as easy to spot as a wart on your nose—oh, no offence intended, of course.’

Samuel laughed. ‘Yes, I suppose I must seem a little out of place, but I’m not actually Turian. I’m from Marlen, but I’ve been studying in the capital for a while, so I guess I’ve picked up some of their accent. Now I’m bound for Gilgarry to meet a colleague.’

‘Oh, and what’s your business, then?’ she asked.

‘I’m a traveller...ah, a travelling trader,’ Samuel replied awkwardly.

‘Trading what?’ old Simpson asked suspiciously.

‘Trading anything,’ Samuel said. ‘Anything of value at all.’

Mrs Down raised an eyebrow at this, but said no more. After they had eaten, she took their bowls and washed them outside in a trough in the yard. Simpson announced he was tired and limped off through the doorway into the bedroom. Mrs Down then gathered up as many cloths and blankets as she could manage and made a simple bed for Samuel near the stove.

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said. ‘We’re just simple folk and we can’t offer you anything more comfortable. I hope it’ll do.’

‘It’s fine, honestly,’ he told her. ‘I’ve slept on roadsides and verges for many a night. This is luxury in comparison. I can’t thank you enough.’

‘Well, it gets awfully cold just before sun-up, so don’t burn yourself on the stove there. And if you need to use the privy, it’s outside and past the pile of wood—mind your step and take care not to fall in. Would you like some hot water to wash up?’

Samuel nodded.

After he had taken care of Jess and washed himself outside, he came back inside. The house was warm and comfortable from the roaring stove and Mrs Down was seated at the table beside a small pile of dyed linen that she was sewing.

‘You make your own clothes?’ Samuel asked, sitting opposite her.

‘Yes. And we sell whatever else I can make. I’m precious little help to Simpson during the day and we need all the money we can get. I do what I can around the farm, but most of the time I think he’d rather run himself half to death than have me puffing after him.’

‘He does everything by himself?’

‘Oh, of course. We’ve no children of our own. It’s been hard times for us lately. The fields are as dry as a dead dog’s tongue, if you’ll excuse me for putting it plainly.’

‘Oh? I hadn’t noticed.’

‘I hope you’re a better merchant than you are a farmer, Samuel. We’ve had scarcely a drop of rain for months now and it’s only getting hotter. I truly don’t know what we’ll do this year.’

Samuel nodded, feeling sorry for the old couple. He could see that life was difficult for them here and would only get harder with each passing year. Without any children to help them, they would struggle to care for themselves without the charity of friends or neighbours. When Samuel grew weary, he lay down on his blankets and fell quickly asleep as Mrs Down continued with her sewing, late into the night.

Samuel awoke to the sound of Mrs Down moving quietly around the room softly humming. Judging from the light shining in through the window, Samuel guessed it was well after dawn and he was surprised he had slept for so long. He slowly roused himself and staggered to the table, where Mrs Down was already placing a hot cup of tea for him.

‘Thank you, good lady,’ he managed to say with a dry throat. ‘Where’s Simpson?’

Mrs Down was tending to her stove. ‘Oh, he’s out on the hill. I told him it’d serve him right if he fell down and ruined himself even more, but he won’t listen to me.’

Samuel nodded and continued sipping his hot tea. When he had finished, he went outside to check on Jess. She was standing happily next to the old donkey and it appeared she had already been given some breakfast as she was munching on a pile of wild grasses and oats. Samuel peered up the hill as he stroked her smooth neck, listening to her crunch and bite her meal. He could see the specks of animals all over the hillside and wondered how Simpson could possibly deal with so many animals by himself.

There was no sign of the old man, but Samuel decided to go check up on him before he continued on his way to Gilgarry. He started up the rocky incline and was quickly panting and short of breath. The air here was thin and certainly did not encourage such exertion. His legs soon burned with each step he took.

Several curious goats began trotting alongside him, bleating and examining him with their black-slitted, yellow eyes, wondering who he was and what treats he had to feed them. Samuel regarded their nimble steps with envy and continued clambering up the ever-growing hill as they followed after him.

He soon found Simpson with smoke curling out of the short pipe between his teeth, sitting high on a boulder, watching all that was laid out below. ‘Good morning, Samuel,’ the old man called out.