Michael Foster - The Young Magician

‘I dream about them all the time,’ he said, his gaze locked on the floor. ‘I just wish so much they hadn’t died. I wish they could come back. I feel so sad, I just don’t know what I can do. I hate it here. I hate everything!’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. We can take care of each other,’ she told him, and with her beside him, Samuel felt that he had one tiny little piece of family still left in the world.

She stayed long after her mother began calling, until a tall, thin silhouette appeared in the entrance tapping its foot, forcing her to depart. If it were not for Jessicah, Samuel honestly did not know what he would do.

It was nearly a week before Samuel thought he was almost better. His chest only hurt now when he rolled on it or moved too quickly. Thankfully, he had barely seen his uncle the entire time, making sure to do all his chores quickly and without the need for being reminded. The man had appeared in the yard this morning, smiling and in good humour, and had sent Samuel to the marketplace for some spice, actually patting him fondly on the head before Samuel could dart past.

As Samuel was hurrying along, he noticed some boys playing kick-ball in the street. He was watching them from a distance when one boy broke from the others and ran over to him. He recognised the boy. They had played a few times before and his freckled, round face seemed friendly. The other children were watching on and waiting expectantly.

‘Want to play?’ the boy asked, short of breath.

‘Yes, please,’ Samuel replied with an enthusiastic nod. He was in no hurry to return to the inn and this seemed like a good enough distraction

‘Do you know how to play?’ the boy asked and again Samuel nodded.

He joined the freckle-faced boy’s team and the game began over. There were a couple of rocks spaced a few paces apart at each end of the playing area, which acted as the goal. There was a little rough play, but Samuel was not at all worried-in fact, he delighted in the rough and tumbling play. He pushed just as hard as he was pushed and whenever they tumbled on the ground and began wrestling, he laughed with pure enjoyment, joining in for all he was worth.

Samuel had a strong kick, but an awful aim and each time he booted the ball towards the goal, he felt embarrassed as his teammates had to chase it and fetch it back. One of the boys on the other team was older and considerably larger than his fellows and he obviously considered himself the champion of the game. He became enraged and swore out loud for all to hear each time anyone tried to take the ball from him. Passers-by in the square gasped and commented at the older boy’s language, but it only made the boy grin all the more. Samuel was not keen to wrestle with him as he had seen him punch others in the nose and make them cry-not at all like the fun wrestling the others enjoyed.

‘Careful,’ the freckle-faced boy, Connel, said as he ran past. ‘He’s lookin’ at you.’

Samuel looked to the rough boy, who was running his finger across his throat and pointing to him with the other. Samuel swallowed hard.

As Samuel charged to intercept the ball as it spun free, his feet were abruptly knocked from underneath him and he collided harshly with the ground, cracking his chin onto the stones. He yelled out in pain.

He could hear the big boy laughing and Samuel suddenly boiled over in a rage. In a flash, he was up on his feet. He turned to confront the bully, who grinned with glee and threw himself straight onto Samuel without hesitation.

Samuel was perhaps the more surprised of them both when he actually knocked the bully over and, after a brief moment in which they were both overcome with disbelief, they began wrestling. Samuel drew a free hand and landed a series of quick, knuckled blows on the bully’s amazed face. This was not his first tussle by any means and Samuel had been honing his skills by watching the drunkards fighting outside the various inns and alehouses around the town. The bully was stunned for a moment, but quickly recovered and rolled over on top of Samuel, holding him easily.

The other boys all gathered around and cheered as Samuel’s arms were pinned beneath him, leaving him helpless, as the big boy set about clearing his throat. With horror, Samuel realised what was about to happen and struggled frantically, kicking his legs and twisting about in vain as a large wad of thick, bubbly saliva slapped onto his face. All the boys laughed and the bully fed on their attention, laughing loudly along with them. Samuel was hoping the worst was over, but the bully was not finished quite yet.

‘This will teach you,’ he hissed and began slamming his fists into Samuel’s face and body. Samuel yelled out with each blow until the bully tired of the task and climbed back off him.

‘Now, get up!’ the bully demanded, hands on his hips and waiting impatiently.

Samuel staggered to his feet and looked to the older boy with fuzzy eyes and a buzzing head. His mouth was full of blood and his nose hurt terribly. The injury in his chest stung most of all, making his breathing painful and difficult.

‘That’s what happens to uninvited guests. If I see you again I’m gonna piss all over you!’ the bully stated with a grin and the others all hooted and laughed again. ‘Now get out of here and don’t be thinking you can join in our games, pig-boy!’

Samuel limped away, clutching his face with one hand and his chest with the other. The crowd parted with disgust-ridden faces as he made his way through, but their scornful comments passed over him without effect.

‘What have you been doing, you little monster!’ his aunty cried out when she saw him stagger into the yard. ‘Where is my spice? What a truly useless and wicked boy you are!’ she said, and turned away aghast.

Samuel ignored her ranting and shambled into the stable, pulling himself into his dusty stall and collapsing onto his cot. He cried out again as his chest burned under his weight and he had to carefully roll over onto his back where he lay for the remainder of the day. As darkness came, Jessicah appeared, shaking her head with worry.

‘Why are you always in such trouble, Samuel?’ she asked, setting down the tiny candle she carried. ‘I’ll begin to think that Mother is right about you.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Samuel replied, wincing from the pain.

‘I’m only fooling you, Samuel,’ she said. He could see her smile in the faint, flickering light.

She set about washing and cleaning Samuel’s face, humming softly to comfort him. She had a beautiful, soft voice, and she could sing like an angel when she wanted to. Samuel could barely carry a tune and was in awe of her whenever she broke into melody.

When she was done cleaning him up, she went inside and brought his dinner out to him. He was famished and managed to wolf it all down, despite his pains. If it were not for Jessicah, Samuel would surely be utterly and totally lost.

The town soon entered a period of heightened activity, with fairs and markets seemingly every second day. Samuel heard some talk of a Moon Harvest, but he was not in the mood for such things, preferring to see to his chores and keep away from other nonsense that could get him into trouble. All such things did was fill the streets with crowds and make his errands all the more difficult.

He was just carrying his water buckets on one such busy street when a hand reached out from the crowd and grasped him by the shoulder.

‘Wait one moment, young man,’ the stranger said, stepping out to tower over him, and Samuel halted nervously. ‘I noticed your little scuffle in the square some time ago and I see you’re well back on your feet.’

‘Oh?’ Samuel began hesitantly, wondering whether or not to drop his buckets and run.