Published: 19 Aug 2019
Casey’s Story: Magic
Casey plucked reeds from the stream bank and woven a net. Walter took it into the stream and dipped it into the water. After a moment, he flipped a trout onto the bank. A few minutes later, another followed, and then another.
“We’ll have to eat them raw,” Walter said. “We’ve no steel to strike sparks, even though there is flint.” He gestured to the rocks on the stream bank. The rocks had been scoured clean, likely during the spring floods. Now, in late summer, the stream was shallow and the rocks were exposed.
“Perhaps not,” Peter said. “Gather wood and twigs.” He took a cobble from the banks of the stream and hacked at the flint until a sharp shard broke off. Holding the shard in the hem of his shirt, he began to scrape fine, dry power from a stick. He built a cone of twigs above the tiny pile of powder, and stacked larger twigs and branches nearby. Then, he began to wave his arms through the air. His lips moved, but the other boys could hear no words.
A tendril of smoke arose from the center of the cone of twigs, and then a flame flickered upward. Carefully and slowly, Peter added twigs to the fire. “Now,” he said, “if you will spit the fish on some twigs from that willow, there, we can have breakfast.”
“How did you start the fire?” Robbie asked Peter. “It was real magic, wasn’t it?”
“It’s a spell my great-grandmother taught me. She was a mage,” Peter said.
“And you’re a mage?” Robbie asked. The other boys seemed too dumbfounded to speak.
“I studied with her. She taught me some things. Then, she died,” Peter said. “I had to become a shepherd like the rest of my family.” He did not seem inclined to talk more.
Haley’s Story—The Mysteries
And only Pan can wrest from thee the prize.
—Theocritus, Idylls
Jason fingered notes on the flute. He played an old song, the first one Haley had taught him. Beside him, Haley’s clear soprano cracked into a boy’s alto. “Ulp!” Haley said. “Can we start over?” He giggled self-consciously.
“Haley,” Jason said, “your voice is changing, isn’t it? How long has it been since your testicles descended?”
In the gathering darkness of the summer evening, Haley blushed. He had noticed, and thanks to his Gram’s teaching, knew what it meant. He had, however, been reluctant to say anything.
“Just at midsummer,” he said.
“That means you’re a boy, now,” Jason said. “When we get home, you can be initiated into the Mysteries. Who will you ask? A brother? A cousin? A—” The boy’s mouth snapped shut.
The look of anguish on Jason’s face told Haley the boy wasn’t being cruel. Haley had no brothers, uncles, or cousins. In his enthusiasm, Jason had forgotten. “I’m sorry, Haley, I didn’t mean to be hurtful,” Jason said.
“It’s okay, Jason,” Haley said. “I know you didn’t mean ill.” He paused to gather his breath, and then continued, “I guess the Headman will decide, since I have no father.”
Because the boy looked so despondent, Jason felt he had to speak. “Haley, I’m not supposed to ask, and it’s supposed to be your choice, and not the Headman’s, anyway. Would you let me initiate you?”
Haley’s cries of sexual awakening and discovery may have startled the sheep, but they said nothing, nor did they look any differently at the two boys the next morning. The sun woke the dogs, which came to nuzzle the boys awake.
Jason leaned over Haley and kissed him, gently. “Thank you, Haley. I was cruel to you, but you never let that defeat you. You returned my cruelty with kindness and honor. It is too soon for you to decide if you will be my friend, but I will be yours, forever.” The older boy stood and then quickly walked toward a bush to piss.
“Jason,” Haley said when the boy returned. “Thank you. You were never cruel. You never called me the dirty names the other boys did; you never tripped me to laugh when I fell. You didn’t do that in the village, and you didn’t do that here. Even at first, when you teased me, it was if you were doing—I don’t know—something that you didn’t want to do, but you felt like you had to do.Your heart wasn’t in it. Why?”
The startled look on Jason’s face turned pensive and he looked down at his feet. Jason’s voice was soft. He spoke slowly. Sometimes, he choked on his words.
“The boys teased you because you were different. You seldom left the hut of your Gram on the edge of the village so you didn’t know. They teased me, too, because I am different. That’s why they sent the two of us to tend the sheep. That’s why they sent a child with a tween. They hated you, and they hated me, too.
“You’re different because of your leg, and because you live with your Gram, and because she teaches you magic.
“I’m different because I was born with magic. I can see if a person is telling the truth, or is lying. I can see when a person is about to get sick or hurt.” The boy’s voice lowered. “I can see when a person is about to die.”
Haley was afraid to ask how Jason knew someone was about to die, and Jason said no more. The younger boy took his new friend’s hand, and squeezed it. It was enough.
The boys counted the sheep, set the dogs to watch, and ate their meager supper. As the sun set, the western sky became like a purple-gray, and a Bright Traveler on its eternal journey among the stars peeped over the eastern horizon.
At last, the summer ended. The boys woke one morning to find that a cloud had caught on a mountaintop and left a sprinkle of snow on the peak. It would likely be gone by noon, but it was the customary signal to bring the sheep home. Men from the village also would have seen the snow. They would soon be on their way toward the meadow. The boys gathered the sheep and started the return trek.
The summer had been good to Haley. His muscles had hardened, and he could walk farther and faster than the spring before. The boys were nearly halfway home when they were met by the men from the village. The Headman immediately began counting the sheep, comparing the notches in their ears with the tally boards he carried. “You lost only one! We had feared more, with the heat and drought.”
Jason held up one of Haley’s baskets. “Haley made these. The sheep knew that they could get water from us and didn’t wander away. And, there were two of us with slings. Show ’em, Haley.”
Under the eyes of the men of the village, Haley loaded his sling. It spun in a blur above his head. There was a crack as the stone struck the limb of a sapling, breaking it so that it hung only from a strip of bark. The headman grunted, “That’s all very well. Now, get the sheep home.”
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