The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) (5 page)

A silver blade shone in the spitting man’s hand and he bent and wiped it on Mother’s skirt hems. She remained silent and unmoving. ‘Suit yourself,’ he told her and he looked quite indignant. ‘Hell-damned bitch wouldn’t keep still.’

‘Now she will,’ the scar-faced man returned bluntly.

‘That’s what we’re here for. Don’t be upset just because I got to her first. It was my turn, anyway. Ah, damn it! I think I got blood on me! Well...what about the boy? Shall we track him down before he makes trouble? The boss wants to be sure they’re all good ’n’ dead.’

The scar-faced man then looked directly at Samuel and raised an outstretched finger. ‘We won’t have to look far. He’s just there.’ His wicked smile returned as he glared towards Samuel and he held his knife up, as if to show it off in the moonlight. He nodded at Samuel and bared all his crooked, yellow teeth.

With a start, Samuel backed out of the bushes and scampered through the trees, their branches biting his face, cold tears streaming down his cheeks. Great boot steps crashed through the undergrowth behind and then the spitting man was beside him, grinning as he easily matched Samuel’s tiny steps. His smile vanished as he collided with a thick trunk and dropped like a sack into the shadows. Samuel was away again and willed his legs even faster beneath him.

With horror, he realised he had strayed from the track to Tom’s house and the river suddenly loomed below him. For an instant, he teetered on the edge, almost tumbling into the silent waters, soil collapsing from under his bare feet.

‘He’s over there!’ came a shout and Samuel leapt back into life, clambering along the top of the steep bank, grabbing the bushes and branches for support.

The soil crumbled under his shuffling feet and Samuel tottered backwards. He snatched out for an anchor and grabbed hold of the long, spiny leaves of a
black-jack
tree. They slid between his fingers and cut deeply. He let go with a yelp and fell, splashing into the darkness below.

‘Over here!’ came a voice.

The water was so cold Samuel almost yelled again, but he put one hand over his mouth and held the noise in as best he could. He knew the men would be attracted by his splash and so he ducked under the water and kicked his feet, swimming like a trout. Underneath, the river was absolute blackness and ghostly silent. When he had swum as far as he possibly could, he carefully surfaced, filling his desperate lungs as silently as he could. The craving in his chest slowly eased as he took longer and more deliberate breaths—yet the noise of each still seemed deafeningly loud. He kept his mouth barely out of the water and scanned the banks for the men. They were standing a bit further back, illuminated in the pale moonlight, searching for him near where he fell. Samuel carefully back-paddled away from them, keeping close to the bank where his feet could just touch the bottom. Every trickle and every tiny sound he made carried easily across the water, but somehow the men still did not look towards him.

‘Ah, damn him!’ he heard one man finally say, his frosty breath forming a cloud before him. ‘It’s too cold and it’s as black as sin out here. I can’t see anything and I’m not getting wet on a night like this for some brat. Let’s just tell the boss we gave him the test and he failed. That will keep him happy. What’s one more dead kid?’ The other nodded and they were gone—vanishing abruptly into the trees.

Samuel stayed in the river for a long time, numbed and shivering. At first, he was too terrified to move, but after a time he realised if he stayed where he was, he would probably freeze to death. He waded along until he recognised the flattening in the bank with the dark shape of the swing rope hanging over it. He dragged his heavy legs onto the river’s edge and realised he was almost paralysed with cold. His body was so cold it burned like fire. Hugging his arms around him, he hauled himself from the river and hurried as well as he could up the rough, winding path towards the faint light of Tom’s house.

He banged on the door with his trembling fist again and again until, after what seemed like an age, it opened in before him. Tom’s father was there looking down at him with obvious surprise, still chewing on a mouthful of his dinner.

‘What’s this?’ he began, and then Tom’s mother appeared beside him, opening the door wide.

‘Oh, you poor thing!’ she said and pulled him in, pushing her dumbfounded husband aside.

Tom was sitting at the table with his dinner in front of him; his fork hovered by his mouth with a bite of meat still on it. Tom’s mother stood Samuel by the stove place and began to drag his wet shirt off. Samuel was still too shocked to speak and he let her move him around like a cloth doll.

‘Now get out of those wet things and dry off before you catch a cold,’ she instructed.

With that, Samuel began to cry. His teeth chattered between great sobs and he started shaking and shivering uncontrollably.

‘Oh, what is it, Samuel?’ Tom’s mother asked. ‘Not too close or you will burn yourself, dear. Here.’ And she put a thick rug around his naked, shivering body.

Tom’s father was looking out the window with concern. He dropped the bar across the door and continued to eye the darkness outside.

‘Some...bad men,’ Samuel began. ‘Some...bad...men,’ he stuttered, but could not manage to push out the words.

Tom’s mother’s brow knitted with worry. ‘
Shh
,’ she said, hushing him. ‘Take your time.’

Samuel swallowed hard—it hurt—and he tried to speak more clearly. ‘Bad men came and hit everyone. They hit Father down and hit Mother. They hurt everyone and I fell in the river.’

‘These bad men, they hurt your mother and father?’ Tom’s mother asked carefully.

Samuel nodded, feeling a surge of tears come pouring down his face. Tom’s mother turned and looked to her husband, who fetched up a long-handled poker from by the fireplace and began to put on his coat.

‘I’ll go get Owen and his lads and we’ll go have a look,’ he said and strode out into the cold night, plucking up his hat on the way.

Tom’s mother barred the door behind him, and then looked out the window for long minutes before returning to the stove. ‘Here, Samuel,’ she said, grasping a ladle and scooping some steaming stew into a bowl. ‘Get something hot into you. Tom’s father will see to everything.’ Her words sounded comforting, but her face was pale as she glanced towards the door.

Samuel sat up on the bench next to Tom with the rug pulled tightly around him, and gingerly pushed a few chunks of potato into his mouth, chewing upon the soft, warm pieces. Tom opened his mouth to speak, but a firmly raised finger and a stern look from his mother kept him quiet. She sat looking out the window until quite late while Tom and Samuel watched the fire embers burn low. Samuel had faint memories of being lifted from the table and being laid onto a soft, warm bed. His dreams that night were at first alarming, with a tall and vile man standing in the doorway, grinning in at him, but eventually such disturbing visions gave way to a deep and thoughtless slumber.

The sounds of stomping boots woke Samuel early the next morning. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, surprised to find himself in Tom’s bed. He hopped up and pulled on some of Tom’s clothes that were laid out nearby, and then hurried out into the main room. Tom’s father was just hanging his hat beside the door.

‘Morning, Samuel,’ he said soberly as he removed his long coat and hung that up as well. It was covered with a patina of dew.

Tom’s mother came from her room in a long, warm gown. She had on thick woollen slippers that made no sound as she moved about, unlike her husband with his great noisy steps. Her hair was knotted and all over her face, just like Samuel’s mother when she first woke up. A glance though the doorway showed Tom still asleep in his mother’s bed.

‘Well?’ she asked.

Tom’s father could not help but show some worry on his face, and ushered his wife back into their room.

‘Stay there, Samuel,’ she instructed as she shut the door behind them and they began talking in hushed voices that Samuel could not hear.

A short time later, Tom’s father reappeared and, after again donning his outdoor wear, he went outside and was shortly riding away on one of his horses. Tom’s mother came from their bedroom and she called Samuel to sit by her at the table. Her eyes were lined red, as if she had been crying and she held a handkerchief balled tightly in one hand.

‘Tom’s father went to see what happened. He and Mr Cooper and his lads all rode over last night.’ Her voice took a softer tone. ‘Your house was on fire when they reached there and they couldn’t find any trace of your family. Many bad things happened last night, Samuel—terrible things. The fire at your house was too big to do anything about. It’s burned down somewhat by now, so they will have a look inside when they can. Hopefully, everyone managed to get out in time. We’ll see. I’m sure everything will be all right.’

Samuel began to sniff and his eyes felt hot as he tried to hold back his tears. Tom’s mother took hold of him and pulled him tightly to her bosom.

‘Now, now,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t cry, Samuel. Everything will be all right.’

‘What about Aaron?’ Samuel asked between heaving sobs. ‘Did the barn catch fire, too?’

‘No, Samuel,’ Tom’s mother answered. ‘Aaron is all right. The barn didn’t catch fire. We’ll take care of him.’

Tom came out of his mother’s room, looking sleepy-eyed, and hopped up at the table opposite them. He spied Samuel crying, but not knowing what else to do, Tom cut himself some bread and began to have his breakfast.

Samuel was kept busy over the next few days with chores and duties at Tom’s parents’ house, even learning how to do a little basket weaving. These days seemed strange and distant, as if at any moment Mother would come to fetch him and he would go back home to find his family waiting there. He kept asking about them, but Tom’s mother only said that no one had found them yet. It was after a few more days again that Tom’s mother finally sat Samuel down, having sent Tom outside to play, and began to talk with him softly.

‘I’m afraid your mother and father won’t be coming back, Samuel,’ she told him. ‘Nor will your brothers or sister.’

‘Where are they?’ Samuel asked.

Tom’s mother’s eyes were all shiny and watery. ‘I’m afraid they were in the house when it burned, Samuel,’ she said.

Samuel nodded, looking blankly at her and not knowing what to say.

‘We’ve told your aunt and uncle in Stable Canthem about it and they’re going to send for you in a few days. You can stay with them for a while. How does that sound?’

‘Will I be able to come back?’ Samuel asked.

‘Of course, darling,’ Tom’s mother replied, ‘but I’m not sure just when. That will be up to your aunt and uncle. I’m sure you’ll have a fine time there. They own an inn, so you can help them out a bit and have lots of new friends there in such a big town.’

Samuel did not know what to say, and so merely sat in silence until Tom’s mother left him be.

Four soldiers came knocking at the door later that day and Tom’s parents asked them in. The soldiers looked untidy and smelled like horses and wet leather. They had scruffy beards and kept eyeing Samuel suspiciously.

‘Seen or heard anything new?’ the sergeant asked.

‘No,’ Tom’s father replied. ‘Not a word. Everyone’s a little worried now; staying in their homes and such.’

The sergeant nodded. ‘That’s understandable. What are you going to do with the boy?’ he asked.

Tom’s father looked to his wife. ‘We’re sending him to the city,’ he replied, ‘so his family can look after him.’

The sergeant nodded again.

‘What have you found, Sergeant? Any news of the culprits?’ Tom’s mother asked anxiously.

The man sucked at his top lip and scratched his nose before answering. ‘Nothing. If there’s not enough trouble here already, there’ve also been some killings in Cotter’s Bend. My men are spread so thin, I don’t even know where half of them are any more. I’ve sent word to Haywood for more men. These pox-ridden curs will show up eventually, and then we’ll hang ’em good and proper.’ With that, the sergeant stood and made for the door. ‘For now, keep your door barred at night.’

Tom’s father closed the door behind the sergeant and his men. He looked to his wife with mixed anger and despair. ‘You and your damned friends, Woman!’ He opened the door again and slammed it behind him as he stormed outside.

Tom’s mother came by Samuel’s side and squatted beside him, at eye level. She held both his hands in hers. ‘Don’t worry, Samuel,’ she said earnestly. ‘They’ll soon catch those men and punish them. Everything will be all right.’

Samuel nodded dumbly. His world felt strange and numb—as if from the moment he had fallen into the river, all warmth had been clawed from his marrow and dragged away into its depths and its own icy touch had leached into his bones. No clothes or fire or bedding could warm him and he felt that his life had been reduced to a tiny, trembling thread.

It was well over a week before a stranger appeared atop a wreck of a wagon, asking after Samuel. Tom’s mother went out to speak with him and when she looked back towards the house, Samuel knew it was time to leave. Tom’s mother rushed back in, while the grey-haired old man remained on his wagon and she quickly stuffed a few things into a tiny bag for Samuel.