The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) (48 page)

‘Morning,’ Samuel called in reply, scaling the boulder. ‘How’s your leg today, Simpson?’ he asked. There was a stick lying beside the old farmer, which he had no doubt used to help him up the hill.

Simpson inhaled and then blew out thin smoke that immediately raced away with a gust of the wind. ‘It’s not so good,’ he replied. ‘I managed to get up here, but there’s not much else I can do but sit on my bones and look around. I managed some of the milking this morning, but it was quite a job.’

Samuel sat down beside the man while he thought about what to do. He dare not risk any spell, for he had seen how superstitious these country folk could be. He had not had much opportunity to practise his healing spells either, so he was not even entirely sure that he could help at all. They sat like that on the rock for a while until the old man spoke up.

‘Can I ask you for a little assistance?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ Samuel replied. ‘What do you need?’

‘I don’t think I can stand up,’ Simpson stated plainly.

Samuel leapt up and helped the old man climb to his feet.

‘It’s a sorry state,’ Simpson said, shaking his head. ‘Perhaps you can help me back down to the house so that I may I talk with Mrs Down.’

The old man took up his walking stick and slowly, arm in arm, they made their way back down the hill. It took much longer than going up, as they had to choose the path of least gradient, winding back and forth, rather than charging straight down. Simpson and Samuel both were panting when they arrived back at the little flat spot where the house was built.

‘I have an idea,’ Samuel stated, as they rested a moment outside.

‘Aye? What’s that?’ the man said with interest.

‘My business is not really so urgent in Gilgarry. If you like, perhaps I can stay here a few days while you find your legs again. In return, you can provide me with a bed and Mrs Down’s good cooking. I’ve been travelling a long time already and a few days’ rest will do me wonders.’

‘I can’t ask you to do that, lad,’ the old man responded. ‘You have your own business to attend to. We can get by here—we always do.’

‘It’s no trouble at all,’ Samuel stated. ‘You’ll really be doing
me
a favour. I don’t really have many practical skills and perhaps I could learn a few things around the farm.’

‘I tell you what, lad. It’s obvious that you’re just making excuses now, but if you really want to stay, I really need the help. We have no children of our own to help and the moment I hurt my leg, I was just horrified at the thought of how I would begin to manage the farm. It seems like you came at just the right time, if you’re willing to stay. If you change your mind though, you can be off any time you choose.’

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ Samuel said with content.

They went inside and Samuel had to repeat the argument all over again with Mrs Down and she was almost crying by the end of it, taken by Samuel’s generosity. She gave them both some more to eat, then Samuel and old Simpson stepped back outside to continue the day’s work. Together they slowly made their way up to Simpson’s rock, where the old farmer carefully sat himself down.

‘What do we do first?’ Samuel asked.

‘I’d start by taking off that cloak. There’s no need to go making it any harder for yerself. A light shirt’ll do. As for work, the goats’ll come when I call ’em, but you need to keep an eye out for the odd mongrel and throw some stones at them if they come scrounging around.’

‘Do you have problems with predators?’

‘You mean dogs? Aye. There’s a pack around that I often have to chase off. Once they taste blood, it’s harder to stop ’em, so I have to be quick. We haven’t seen wolves or such for a few years in these parts. I think the sheep in the lowlands are easier to catch and a tad juicier than my bony old goats.’

Samuel sat quietly for a few minutes as Simpson smoked his pipe. The silence soon became uncomfortable. ‘What can I do, then?’ Samuel finally asked.

‘See those sheep climbing up from the valley?’ Simpson said as he pointed and Samuel saw some tiny, fleecy dots further down the hillside. ‘They’re Ned Palmers’ and they like to come up here and eat what little grass I have, so you can start by herding them back down again. I try, but it does me no good. Stubborn as an old woman, they are.’

Samuel stood up and took a deep breath to ready himself. He kept his cloak on for, despite the old man’s words, the air was thin and bitter. Simpson was no doubt used to the highland weather, wearing only his thin, lace-up shirt and well-stained trousers and boots.

Samuel began clambering down the grassy slope and was already sweating, despite the chill wind, when he neared the sheep. Climbing down the hill seemed even harder than going up, if at all possible.

The sheep were munching the short, sparsely-patched grass, oblivious to him. Their black heads and long, white wool looked a strange combination. Samuel raised his arms and tried shooing them away, but they utterly ignored him, chewing the grass as if he did not exist. It was not until he tried actually pushing one that it suddenly reacted and bolted away along the hill. The others waddled after it, finishing further away and even higher up the hill, where they looked down upon him and bleated quizzically.

Samuel looked up to the old farmer, still sitting on his high rock. Even from here, he was sure he could detect an amused smile on the man’s lips.

Samuel adjusted his cloak and circled above the sheep, now once again oblivious to him with heads down to the grass. He waved his arms furiously and yelled out ‘
ha
!’—leaping high in the air. The sheep took notice and with a jerk, they shied again, trotting from their meals and giving him a wide berth until, once again, they finished just above him on the hillside. Samuel swore and ran after them, muttering curses. He singled one animal from the others and chased it all over the hill while the remainder stood and watched, ever-chewing. His mutterings became much more vocal, until he was yelling abuse of every form at the stubborn animal.

He realised he was getting nowhere when, finally, he had to stop because his legs were burning and his lungs were heaving desperately for air. He could continue no further and cursed the sheep again as he bent over with his hands on his knees, struggling for breath. The sheep bleated as it trotted over to its companions and rejoined them at their munching.

Samuel collapsed atop the grass and tried to think of an intelligent alternative. Any spell he could think of would only panic them further and who knows where they would run—certainly not in any direction he wanted. He contemplated lifting them all up and floating them down into the valley, but that would probably scare them to death and he could only manage one such heavy animal at a time. Finally, he climbed back up to Simpson to gain advice.

‘Won’t do chasing them,’ the old man stated simply, ‘unless there’s a few of you,’ he added with a shrug. ‘They’re dumb animals, but they know how to be stubborn, sure enough. Gotta let them know who’s in charge.’

‘How do I do that?’ Samuel panted.

‘Don’t know. Never done it,’ Simpson explained with a grin, blowing smoke through his lips. ‘The other farmers have a dog or two to help them round up their stock, but I’ve never been fond of dogs. Besides, we couldn’t afford to keep one—they eat too much.’

‘You could let it eat those sheep and solve two problems at once.’

‘Aye,’ the aging man grinned. ‘But that wouldn’t do. My neighbours are my friends, as well, despite our little disagreements. Besides, Mrs Down has an allergy. One dog hair up her nose and she’s sniffing and teary-eyed and can’t do a thing. That wouldn’t do at all.’

Samuel helped Simpson with various tasks throughout the day, running up and down the hill many times, but mostly just to pass messages to Mrs Down. For the bulk of the time, they just seemed to sit and ensure that his little flock of animals did not get themselves into trouble.

‘I could get used to this!’ Samuel stated at one point. ‘It can be quite relaxing to sit here. It’s not quite as hard as I thought.’

‘We haven’t done anything, yet,’ Simpson responded. ‘Tomorrow we’ll have a lot to do. Mrs Down took care of the urgent milking this morning, but we’ll need to manage them all tomorrow. Then, we’ll have to lead all the animals down to the valley and back, as my creek’s almost run dry. Several animals need to be caught and have their hooves clipped, but I suppose that can wait a few days more. Really, we’ve quite a lot of work to do tomorrow. I just thought I would start you off easy today and put off as much as we could.’

‘Oh,’ Samuel said. It actually
did
sound like quite a lot to do.

They arrived back at the little house just after sunset and Samuel was exhausted. Mrs Down had prepared some soup and roast vegetables, which Samuel swallowed heartily. Somehow, her meals were delicious, despite her almost vacuous pantry.

The next morning, Simpson roused Samuel while it was still dark outside. After he had managed to get his clothes on, Samuel helped the old man outside, and he was surprised to see that most of the goats and cows were gathered around the house in the dim, pre-dawn light.

Simpson set about teaching Samuel how to milk and it took him a while to catch on. He had often seen it done when he was young, but had never tried it before. It took several hours for them to finish milking all the animals and by the time they were done, Samuel could barely move his hands at all, as they were so sore. When the milk was safely poured into the various large barrels beside the house they went inside for their breakfast. Shortly after, they began back up the hill, with Samuel helping old Mr Down slowly limp along until they reached the jutting boulder.

‘I have an idea, if you don’t mind me trying, Simpson,’ Samuel said and the old man glanced towards him, still sucking on his pipe. ‘It’s starting to look as if I’m not quite the best farmer.’

‘I’ll give you that one,’ Simpson said with a mischievous smile.

‘And I’m not really a merchant, either.’

‘I’m not stupid, lad. Of course, you’re not.’

‘You knew?’ Samuel said with surprise.

‘Of course. You think I’m daft? You’d be the sorriest excuse for a businessman if ever I saw one. Don’t take me wrong, but Mrs Down and I knew it wasn’t true the moment you spoke it. You’re just not cut for it. No merchant I’ve ever met would save his own mother from a fire, let alone help an old man home on a country road—especially one from the Empire.’

‘But you didn’t say anything.’

‘It wouldn’t be polite.’

Samuel chewed over the thought for a few moments. The ways of these country folk were certainly perplexing.

‘So, what’s your idea then?’ Simpson asked finally. ‘If it can help either of us, I’d be mighty appreciative. I hate seeing you run around like a fool all day.’ Simpson bore a cheeky grin at the last part, with his pipe still clenched firmly between his teeth.

‘Well,’ Samuel began, still unsure, ‘perhaps I can try something that may help, but I want you keep an open mind.’

‘At this point in my life, lad, my mind’s as open as can be. If it were any opener the birds would be nesting in it.’

Samuel nodded and started down the hill towards the sheep. The woolly animals regarded him with indifference as the spiny grass continued to disappear down their throats. One animal lifted its tail and a number of dark pellets bounced out onto the grass.

Samuel closed his eyes for a moment and felt calm serenity in that darkness. Years of experience in reaching into the void came back to him, and he found it at once—that state of mind vital to channelling magic. He gathered his energy and began to spell, weaving a complex formation of colour from pure energy. In a matter of moments, he had created the illusion of a dog, albeit a simple outline, floating just slightly above the ground. Samuel chuckled. Its face looked blankly ahead.

Samuel made his creation slide towards the sheep, throwing his voice from its snarling mouth. ‘
Arf, Arf!
’ he barked.

The sheep didn’t even blink as the illusion slid directly through one of them and faded away along with Samuel’s patience.

‘Are you
blind!
’ he swore at the animals.

He felt the blood grow hot in his face and he ground his teeth together firmly. For a moment he stood, clenching his white-knuckled fists, until, ‘
Damn
it!
’ he screamed and tossed a furious knot of energy into the ground. There was a boom and a flash and the sheep bleated all the way down the hill on their frantic little legs, away from the blackened patch of smouldering grass. A satisfied smile lay on Samuel’s lips. He laughed and nodded to himself. He had shown
them
who was the smartest.

Turning back towards Simpson Down, Samuel was aghast to see all of the old man’s animals—goats and cows alike—disappearing up over the hilltop. ‘Damnation!’ Samuel swore and loped back up towards Simpson, who was still sitting and smoking calmly.

‘So you’re a magician, then?’ the old man asked.

‘Yes,’ Samuel answered sourly, ‘but apparently not such a great one.’

‘Well, I don’t mind in the least, but perhaps if you could find a way to move those sheep without blowing up or burning down my hill, it would be a little better?’