Published: 8 Aug 2019

Josephus

“We’ll leave the river, here,” Ian said. He pointed to a valley that led toward the north. In cross-section, the valley was about 30 feet deep. It was about 80 feet wide at the top, and flat on the bottom. Had he been able to read, Ulee would have recognized the shape as a broad letter U.

“Uncle Tarr says that the river once ran along this channel, until there was a great flood. He also says that there were farms along where the river used to run. They were abandoned when the river changed course. We might find useful things at the old farms. It’s shorter this way, too.”

Undergrowth in the valley was heavy. Trees whose yellow, red, and orange leaves presaged the coming of autumn and winter nearly blocked the sky. Ulee didn’t like the darkness of the valley. However, he nodded and followed Ian as the older boy stepped away from the river and walked through the gloom.

The boys had been following the old riverbed for two days without having seen any of the farms Ian’s uncle had described. “Ian,” Ulee called. “Look. That’s not natural.” He pointed to a squared-off stone that lay nearly hidden in foliage. “And look, there are more.”

Once the boys knew what to look for, they found a number of stone blocks, about three feet on each side, which looked as if they’d tumbled down the side of the valley. Grasping Ulee’s hand, Ian led his companion through the thicket and around the blocks until they stood at the top of the valley wall. “You found it, Hedgehog!” Ian said triumphantly. “It’s a farm.”

Several large stone buildings stood on the bank of what had been a broad river. Trees and brush which grew after the farm was abandoned almost hid them. Two were roofless, but the largest, perhaps the original farmhouse, still had a roof of slate shingles.

“There’s someone here,” Ian whispered. “Those footprints were made by sandals.” A trail along the top edge of the embankment led to the farmhouse.

Ian and Ulee crawled on their bellies through the brush. “Can you make us both hedgehogs?” Ian asked.

Ulee thought. “I don’t know,” he said, “but I’ll try.”

The boys were about 20 yards from the house when they heard a door open. They froze, and pressed their faces into the dirt.

“Well, well,” came a voice, “a boy and a badger? Or a hedgehog? No, it’s two hedgehogs, or two boys. You may show yourselves. I won’t harm you.”

“Stay hidden!” Ian hissed to Ulee. “And make yourself invisible!”

Ian stood. On the porch of the house, he saw a man who wore a brown robe and held a staff. The staff was too long and thin to be a quarterstaff. Walking stick, Ian thought. The man seemed to be old and slight. He may not be a threat; but are there others? Ian wondered.

“I am alone,” the man said, answering Ian’s unspoken question. “I, too, have fled the Red Robes.”

“What makes you think we … I … I mean, I … have fled anyone?” Ian asked.

“You and the boy in the brush beside you, who is trying very hard to be invisible, are both magic users. You haven’t been captured by the Red Mages, and you’re sneaking through the forest. Therefore, you’re fleeing them. Q. E. D.”

“What’s a queue-ee-dee?” Ian asked.

“It’s not a thing. It’s three letters that mean, well, loosely, thus it is proven,” the man answered. “Come, it will be dark soon, and I must set two more places for supper.”

Ian paused. Both he and Ulee were nearing exhaustion. They could not reach Witten, much less Kassel, before winter. Without help, they would die. Do not trust too easily, but do not fear so much you do not trust anyone, his grandmother had said. Perhaps this was a time to trust.

At Ian’s urging, Ulee stood, breaking the cloak of invisibility he’d cast about himself.

“Why, you’re just a boy,” the old man said. “You were a very good hedgehog, though. When you made yourself invisible, you were very noisy. We’ll have to work on that.”

“But I wasn’t noisy,” Ulee protested. “I didn’t move. I hardly didn’t even breathe!”

“Not that kind of noise,” the man said, “but magical noise. Do you not know about that?”

Ulee and Ian both shook their heads.

“Well, we’ll have to work on that,” the man said.

The man introduced himself as Josephus. “I have been a mage for many years,” he said. “This old farm has been my home for the past three decades. Had you walked a little farther, you would have seen my garden. The soil in the bottom of the old riverbed is close to the water table, and is very fertile. A herd of goats, feral when I arrived, provides milk for cheese and yoghurt. The chickens returned when I started putting out corn for them, and they provide eggs. It’s an easy life. I need little, so I have time for study. But come, would you like a bath before supper?”

Both boys nodded. “Yes, please,” Ian said. “We’ve not bathed properly in … in a very long time.”

Josephus showed Ian how to pump water into the cistern above the bathing room. “You’ve used a pump, before, haven’t you? You’re applying magic to the task, and you’re doing it very efficiently.”

“Yes,” Ian answered. “We lived on a stream. But in winter the aqueduct would freeze, and we’d have to pump water from a well under the house.”

When the cistern was full, Josephus asked Ian, “Can you warm the water with magic?”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Ian said, looking at Ulee.

Ulee added, “I didn’t know you could do that!”

“Well, we’ll have to work on that,” Josephus said. He gestured, moving his arms slowly but broadly, as if he were lifting something in the direction of the cistern. A breath of cold air blew briefly from the stones of the room’s walls. “The water’s hot, now. Enjoy your bath.” He left the room.

Ian and Ulee reveled in the hot water of the shower, but were reluctant to fill the hot soak. “Even using magic, it was hard to pump all that water,” Ian explained.

“I don’t understand,” Ulee said. “How do you use magic to pump?”

“Well,” Ian said, putting his arm around his companion, “we’ll have to work on that.”

Supper was simple: cheese was served with chewy, sour bread, and apples. “The orchard was not badly overrun after the farm was abandoned. I’ve already started putting apples away for the winter,” Josephus explained.

Ian and Ulee woke to the smell of summer savory. They found Josephus in the kitchen, stirring a pot over the hearth. Although there was steam coming from the pot, there was no fire in the hearth.

“You’re using magic to heat the pot. Just like you heated the water last night,” Ulee said.

Josephus nodded. “It’s an easy magic, and a lot easier for me than chopping wood. Not all magic is that easy, though, and this won’t work nearly as well during the heart of winter.” He gestured for the boys to sit at the table, and brought them bowls of porridge.

“It’s only corn pudding,” he said, “with egg and milk.”

As the boys ate their breakfast, Josephus spoke to them. “Am I to understand that you’ve not received any training as magic users?”

The boys shook their heads. “I learned something about healing and herbs from my grandmother. And a lot about how to use magic on a farm…,” Ian said, “and I learned a little about how to weave magic.”

“And you, Ulee?” Josephus asked.

The smaller boy shook his head. “I was apprenticed to a tanner, and I know they used some magic. I think they might have heated the tanning vats like you heated the water, but I was just a child, and wasn’t taught anything.”

“You both have some inborn magical talent. I can see it in Ian, even though I don’t know what it is. I sensed Ulee’s talent yesterday … you are an Illusionist, are you not?”

Josephus’s smile, and the kind way he had treated the boys had overcome Ulee’s discomfort about his magical talent. “Yes, Master,” the boy began, “Ian explained to me, and I made a bird … and a crocodile … for him.”

“You can also make yourself invisible, can you not?” Josephus asked.

“Well, sometimes, I think I can, but Ian … Ian sees me, most of the time,” Ulee replied.

“Um, hmm,” Josephus said. “Now, will you help me gather apples?”

The boys agreed. They spent the day listening to Josephus talk about magic, while they carried bushel after bushel of apples into a storage shed. They were tired at the end of the day, but not exhausted. Again, Josephus heated water for their bath, and served a supper of bread and cheese.

After supper, the boys prepared for bed. Ian was moody, almost pensive, and Ulee was afraid to say anything. Finally, however, Ulee broke the silence. “Do you suppose what Josephus said was true? That we could hurt ourselves, and others, unless we learn more about magic?”

Ian spoke slowly, almost reluctantly, “Yes, Hedgehog, I think he was speaking the truth, and I think he was really worried about us. Nana said to be careful who we trusted, but she also said not to be afraid to trust. Ulee…” Ian’s use of the boy’s real name, rather than his nickname, signaled his earnestness. “Ulee, I think we should trust Josephus. I want to ask him to teach us about magic. I know we’re less than halfway to the Great Road. I know that if we stay here any time at all, we’ll have to stay through the winter. I don’t know if Josephus wants that, or if the little garden he has can support three people for all that time, but I want to ask.”

Ian held Ulee, with one hand on each of the other boy’s shoulders, and looked hard into his eyes. “Ulee, will you do this?”

Ulee looked up at Ian. The sincerity of what he was saying was so strong, and the look in his eyes was so bright, that Ulee could not deny him. “Yes, Ian. You asked that we be friends. I like being your friend. I don’t know if I want to know too much about magic, though. I still don’t like it a lot.”

Two mornings later, Ian and Ulee reached the kitchen before Josephus. They prepared a breakfast of toasted bread, curds, and stewed apples. Josephus seemed to enjoy being served by the boys, and thanked them sincerely.

When all were seated, Ian began. “Master Josephus, yesterday Ulee and I explored the old farm. Your garden is full of things that need to be harvested; the apple orchard isn’t the only one that survived; there are acres of nut trees just over the rise, and they are heavy with nuts. There is another herd of goats, and the fence around the pasture needs only a few repairs to be able to confine them. Of course, this is more work than you might want to do, more work than you can do alone. I know how to harvest and store food, how to tend goats and chickens, and how to mend fences. Ulee doesn’t, but he can learn.

“Ulee and I want you to teach us about magic. In return, we will manage the farm and household tasks. We will make sure there’s enough food to last until next year’s garden begins to produce. There, now I’ve said it. Will you teach us?”

Ulee and Ian sat anxiously waiting for the old man to speak. Finally, Josephus answered.

“I was, for over three hundred years, a teacher at the College of Magic in Herten. Toward the end of that time, I became disturbed by the direction the school seemed to be taking. We still taught healing, and we still explored ways to use magic in crafts, to build and to create. But, about 150 years ago or so, some of the mages at the school began to put more and more emphasis on power – how to make more powerful spells and how to gather more magic. It became apparent that they were seeking power for the sake of power, not power to heal or to build.

“It’s hard enough being a mage and controlling the power of magic. The greater the power, the harder it is to control.

“It took decades for me to realize that I could not stop the members of the college who had embarked on this path. Four decades ago, I left. I wandered through Eblis for years, looking for a place where I would be comfortable, a place where I could work and continue my studies. Eventually, I found this farm, and settled here.

“I have missed companionship. I have missed being a teacher. Yes, I would like to teach you. But first, I must ask you to swear you would use your skill, power, and knowledge only for good, and never for evil. I won’t ask you to swear now. However, let us say, tomorrow. For the rest of today, you may think about this, and ask me any questions you may have.

“Master,” Ian began, “you asked that we swear only to use magic for good and not evil. But, how do we know?”

Josephus seemed both pleased and puzzled by Ian’s question. The boys waited until he spoke. “Magic is like the rain. Sometimes it waters the fields and produces grain and other food. Sometimes it washes away roads and houses and people.

“Magic is like the wind. Sometimes it cools us when we work in the fields. Sometimes it blows down trees and tears away the roofs of buildings.

“Magic is nothing without someone to direct it. You can use magic to build, to create, to heal, to strengthen. You can use magic to destroy, to injure, to weaken.

“You can build a bridge to lead someone over a raging river, or you can build a weapon to kill someone.

“You can use magic to form a pot to hold honey, or a pot to hold poison.

“You can use magic to heal a child’s sickness, or to cause sickness in someone.

“Good is using magic to do things that help people, that make their lives better – not always easier, but better.

“Evil is using magic to harm.

“There’s more, but I cannot say it all, now,” Josephus concluded. “All I ask, now, is that you promise to try to be good. You will learn more, and discover more, as time passes. I will do what I can to help.”

Ulee and Ian nodded their understanding, and promised.

Josephus realized that the boys would need to know more than just magic; they would need to know about the world in which they lived. He drew maps of Eblis, Arcadia, and Elvenhold.

“Are there really Elves?” Ulee asked. “They’re not just a story?”

“Yes,” Josephus replied, “they’re real enough. Most of them live in Elvenhold. Few travel, and even fewer travel as far south as Eblis. They are beings of the Light. If they stayed long in Eblis, they would wither and die, just as a plant would die if it were deprived of sunlight.

“There is – or was – an Embassy in Herten, and I met an Elven mage, once. I also saw a Dark Elf. He wasn’t of the Embassy, but was visiting some of the men at the college, the ones I was becoming alienated from. He came with two of the Red-Robes.”

“Who are the Red-Robes, Master? Besides hunters, I mean,” Ian asked.

“They’re the boys who don’t succeed as mages; they’re the ones with just enough talent to be trained as Finders and Semblers. They are outcasts even among their own kind. Their failure is fanned into hatred, and they are sent to find boys whose minds and talents can be subverted by the state.

“The soldiers who travel with them? They are the boys whose minds broke during training because they couldn’t learn fast enough, or because they tried to resist the training. They are spelled to obedience. They are in the worst possible kind of slavery.”

Ian and Ulee nodded their understanding. That night, Ulee told Ian what Nana had said when Ulee first woke. “She said she’d kill me, herself, before she would allow me to be taken to that. Now, I know why she said it, and why it was such a great gift.”

The next morning, although the boys were eager to begin their lessons, Josephus led then to a small room behind the kitchen. There was only one door, and it was small—both Josephus and Ian had to stoop to enter.

“This morning, I want you to see something that could be very important. It could mean the difference between life and death,” Josephus said.

“It’s cold,” Ulee said.

“It’s a spring room, I think,” Ian said.

Josephus lit a candle. The walls were lined with shelves. In the center of the floor was a large, square basin. It was dry, now, but a stone pipe in the center showed where the old spring had risen. A spillway and trough led to a hole in the floor that had been the drain.

“Yes,” Josephus replied. “It was a spring room before the river changed course and the water table lowered. Its walls are thick enough, and the trees have grown up to shade it, so that it still stays cold enough that we can begin to store cheese here.”

“And it’s dry enough we can store root vegetables, too,” Ian added.

“But that’s not what I want you to see,” Josephus said. “Please stand by the door, but watch what I do.”

When the boys were standing just inside the door, Josephus took an unlit torch from a bracket on the wall, and then pushed up on the bracket. The bracket slid into the wall. Josephus then walked around the spring basin and stood on a particular stone. The stone began slowly to sink. As it did so, a trapdoor in the floor in front of Ian and Ulee opened, revealing steps leading downward.

“This secret passage leads through a tunnel into the woods about a mile away. It was open when I first got here, or I’d never have found it,” Josephus said. “See how that door can be barred from the inside? I suspect this was the keep of this household.”

Seeing the puzzled looks on the boys faces, he added, “It was the place where they could retreat if brigands invaded the house – a place from which they could escape, and perhaps counterattack from behind any invaders.

“I … now we … would use it for the same purpose. If the Red Robes come, this will be an escape route,” the man added.

When he was sure both boys knew how to operate the trap door and close it from beneath, Josephus led them back into the kitchen, and extinguished the candle.

In the kitchen once again, Josephus began the lessons. “Ever since the first day you were here, and I heated your bath water, you’ve seemed fascinated with heat magic,” Josephus said. “Today we will study that. I cannot warn you too strongly – heat magic is extremely dangerous. It is perhaps the most powerful use to which magic can be put.

“Ian, you grew up on a farm. Was there a smithy?”

When the boy nodded, Josephus asked, “Did you learn anything about moving heat from the forge to the work-piece?”

Ian shook his head. “My uncle who was the Smith, he let me help, and he taught me how to work metal, a little, but he always did the heating. I sussed he was using some magic, but I never learned what he was doing.”

“He was moving heat from the fire to the workpiece,” Josephus said, and again cautioned the boys before he began the lesson. Within a tenday, the boys were boiling water; by the end of the month, Ian was able to heat the water in the bath, and the boys enjoyed hot soaks for the first time since they’d reached the farm.

Josephus also showed them that he could concentrate heat not in just a physical object, like a cooking pot or the cistern, but in a shell made entirely of magic. “You do not yet have the fine, precise control of magic necessary to do this. I show you only so that you will not try it. You both are too bright for your own good, you know,” he said fondly. “You’d have wondered about this, and might have tried it, with disastrous results. Please remember that magic can be dangerous.”

“And that it’s easier to do harm than to do good,” Ian added. To Josephus’s surprised look, he continued, “That’s what my Nana said just before she sent us away.”

Ulee’s face was the picture of concentration. His lips were tight and he squinted at the copper farthing on the table. He gasped as it slid perhaps a quarter of an inch.

Ian applauded, and even Josephus smiled. “Why,” Ulee said, “is it so hard to move the farthing, and so easy to move heat?”

“When you move the farthing, you are moving something real, something physical. The coin has weight. And, you’re using more mind than magic to move it. It takes your own strength. As you learn better to control magic, it will become easier. You must never try to move something heavy until you are much, much stronger as a mage; you could hurt yourself, just as if you strained to lift a weight that was too heavy for you.

“Moving the heat is easier because the spells I taught you use more magic than mind. Second, we always take a little heat from a wide space. When we heat the water in the cistern, we take a little heat from all the blocks in the walls, floor, and ceiling. If we tried to take all the heat from just one stone, it would be a great deal harder.”

Josephus turned to the older boy. “Ian, in the chest at the foot of my bed there is a small leather bag with some other coins. Would you bring that, please? I want you to try to move something a little heavier while Ulee concentrates on the farthing.”

Ian ran off. Ulee looked pensive. “Why can’t I try to move something heavier? Is it because I’m littler than Ian?”

“No, Ulee, it’s because your inborn magical talent, what we call Innate Magic, is different than Ian’s. His is more physical; yours, more mental. Ah, Ian, thank you.”

Josephus emptied the bag onto the table. Ian saw two gold pounds; three crowns; several shillings; and a dozen or so copper pieces. There was also a large silver coin he did not recognize. Pointing to it, he asked what it was.

“A thaler,” Josephus said. “They’re not used often. It’s four times heavier than the gold crown, but worth only about twice as much, I think. Some people won’t accept them because they’re so unusual. Why don’t you try to move it?”

In the evening, after supper and before sleep, it was customary for Josephus and the boys to sit in the kitchen, warmed by the embers of the banked fire. Josephus often lit a pipe, filled with the dried leaves of a particular herb. When the pipe was drawing to his satisfaction, he would tell the boys stories.

“Have you ever seen a dragon?” he asked one night.

“Are there really dragons?” the two boys breathed as one.

“Are they as fierce as an alligator?” Ulee asked.

“Can they fly?” Ian added.

“Are they magic?” Ulee asked.

“A hundred lifetimes ago,” Josephus began. The boys knew this phrase presaged a story, usually fanciful, always exciting, and often containing a lesson in magic or morality, or both.

High in the mountains was the fortress city of Rook. High in the mountain above Rook and dug deeply into the body of the mountain itself, was the home of a great mage. The mage is said to have lived a hundred lifetimes, during which he learned to fly like a bird, to breathe water like a fish, and to burrow in the ground like a mole. He spoke all the languages of all the peoples on all the continents, and possessed nearly every book ever written as well as curious artifacts from all over World. He did not, however, take an apprentice. Like a miser hoarding gold, this mage hoarded knowledge.

Why he studied what he studied, he did not know. He was, however, driven to learn more and more. He sent agents throughout World to scour colleges, temples, ancient monasteries, kings’ libraries, and old castles for more books and scrolls and manuscripts. He had the power to turn stone into gold, and paid handsomely for what his servants found. He learned more and more about World, about the things that make up World, about life and about the things that make up life.

Still, he did not take an apprentice, but hoarded his knowledge. One night, a dream came to him. The dream told him he was going to die, and that all his knowledge would be lost. The mage woke. He believed the dream and was angry that all his knowledge would die with him. He was angry that he hadn’t taken an apprentice so that a memory of the mage, himself, could live on.

His magic and knowledge could not tell the mage how much time was left before he would die. The dream hadn’t told him that, and all attempts to scry his own future were blocked. Nevertheless, he was determined that his knowledge would survive. So he set about writing a grimoire – a book of magic. He dismissed all his servants. He sealed his doors against distraction, and began writing. To this task, he dedicated all his time. He was just as fanatical about writing the book as he had been about collecting knowledge.

When at last the book was complete, the mage put down his pen and sat back in his chair. Some say it was at that instant that he died, still sealed in his den. Some say that he left the finished book on his table, and went out of his den to see the sun for the first time in a hundred years, and that he died as he stepped out the door. Some say that he wrote so much in the book that when he finished his mind was as blank as a newborn child, and that he wandered away until he fell down a precipice and died. All say, however, that he died and that the book is still in his den. And all say that after the mage died, a dragon came to the cavern, and sleeps there, to this day.

“But does the dragon fly?” Ian asked.

“Does it breathe fire?” Ulee demanded. Both boys were more interested in a dragon than a long-dead mage.

“It does both, when it is awake, when it is defending itself or its young,” Josephus answered. “Unlike a bird, however, the dragon cannot lift its weight by its wings, alone, but uses magic to aid its flight.”

“And the fire?” Ulee asked.

“It, too, is part of the dragon’s magic,” Josephus said. “It is something that is innate – that means that dragons are born with it, just as Ulee was born with the ability to create illusions, and Ian was born with his powers. Dragons breathe fire without having to cast spells to move heat like you are learning.”

“Don’t dragons have treasure, too?” Ian asked, remembering stories his Nana had told.

“I don’t believe dragons hoard or guard any treasure of their own,” Josephus said. “They nest in mountains, and it is often in mountains that miners find gold, silver, and gems. That coincidence, I think, is why so many stories speak to a dragon’s treasure. Dragons are not, so far as I know, thinking creatures.”

“Ulee, did you wash your hands?” Ian asked.

“Josephus only lets me eat with one hand,” Ulee said, “so I only washed one.” He held up his right hand, which was clean.

Ian glanced at Ulee’s left hand, which was stained with the juice from the berries they’d put into pots to be boiled, and with the charcoal of the kitchen hearth. “How do you wash only one hand?”

Ulee put his right hand back under the tap, and then froze. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “When you asked me … and I thought about it … I just forgot!”

“That is an important lesson,” Josephus said from the doorway. “Some magic you do without thinking about how you do it. Some magic you must think about very, very carefully. And some of the spells you are learning must be learned so well that you don’t have to think about them. Come, I have finished boiling the berries. Unfortunately, there were too many for the pots, and we will just have to have a cobbler for dessert.”

“Ulee,” Josephus began, “would you become invisible?”

Ulee stared into the distance. He did not blink. His mouth opened slightly. Josephus had put him in a trance. Ulee nodded, and thought invisible, I’m invisible.

“Finders,” Josephus whispered.

Ian looked sharply at the man, who put his finger to his lips. Suddenly, Ulee wasn’t there.

“See and remember,” Josephus said softly. “See the lines. What color are they?”

“Golden,” Ulee whispered. “Golden like Ian’s hair. Beautiful, like Ian’s hair.”

“See and remember,” Josephus said. “Where do the lines come from?”

“From everywhere,” Ulee responded. “No, from me.”

“See and remember,” Josephus said. “Where do the lines go?”

Ulee did not respond at first, and Ian began to worry. Again, Josephus put his fingers to his lips.

“They go where I want them to go,” Ulee said. “Through me and around me. But I can change that.”

Ian stifled a gasp. Where Ulee had been, now sat the colorful bird—the first illusion the boy had made for him. That illusion prepared Ian, and when the alligator appeared, he was not afraid.

Ulee giggled. “I’m awake now, Master. Oh Ian! It was so beautiful! I can see magic like you do!”

A score of sessions later, Josephus was confident that Ulee had mastered his magic. The boy knew consciously what his innate gift had allowed him to do without thinking. He understood how to keep the lines of magic from vibrating and sending what Josephus called noise through time and space, alerting other magic users. He also learned to reinforce his magic with energy from the boy magic he received from Ian, and – after another score of lessons—from the matrix.

“My earlier apprentices took decades to reach the point you have reached,” Josephus told the boys. “However, they did not have your inborn gift. Please,” the old man said, “please remember that you promised to use your magic for good.”

The boys both hugged their mentor. “We promise,” Ulee said.

“We will remember always,” Ian swore.

Josephus taught Ian many things he did not shared with Ulee. “He’s too … innocent,” Josephus had said. “His powers are soft; yours are hard. He can fool someone; you can kill. I hope that you will not have to,” the mage added. “But I very much fear that you will.” He looked closely at Ian.

“My grandmother was the gentlest person who ever lived,” Ian said. “Yet she killed to protect Ulee. When he first created an illusion of an alligator – I didn’t know it was an alligator – I was prepared to die to protect him. I think it would be much easier to kill to protect him. If my grandmother could do it, I can, too. I would not like it,” he hastened to add. “I know it’s not Good, and I’ve promised to be good, but I promised first to protect Ulee.

“Am I still your student?” he concluded.

“Of course, Ian,” Josephus said. “And you are right; the earlier promise rules the later one, but if you love Ulee as much as he loves you, then killing someone in his defense would not be wrong. It might not be Good, but it would not be wrong.”

The winter passed, and spring began. In addition to their lessons, Ian and Ulee spent time in the garden, preparing and planting. They were wakened one morning by Josephus. “Ian, Ulee! Wake up, dress! Bring your packs and come to the spring room. Quickly!”

Josephus had insisted that the boys be ready to leave on a moment’s notice. “We do not know when the Red Robes will come; but they will come. You will go down the tunnel, and I will close the door behind you. No,” he held up his hands. “Do not argue. You swore obedience. I will close the door behind you, and meet the Red Robes. They are not a threat to me. Remember, they are the boys who failed to become mages. Their soldiers are not a threat, either. They are the ones who failed to become Red Robes. You will hide in the gulley at the end of the tunnel until I come for you.”

This morning, though not quite morning, since the spring sun was still below the horizon – Josephus’ orders and the practice he’d insisted on, paid off. The boys were in the tunnel in less than three minutes. Josephus looked around the kitchen. Other than the warmth of the bed upstairs, there was no evidence that the boys had ever been at the farm. He built a huge fire in the kitchen fireplace. Using some of its heat, he warmed a pot of water, being careful to allow some magic noise to escape. When the water was hot, he brewed tea. As the tea steeped, he began gathering magic, this time making no noise at all.

Perhaps an hour later, two Red Robes and their soldiers entered the kitchen from the courtyard. They didn’t knock, but pushed the door open, slamming it against the wall. Josephus didn’t bother to look startled. Even these rejects would have sensed he was a mage.

“Where is he?” a Red Robe demanded. “The boy-mage?”

“There’s no boy-mage here,” Josephus said calmly, not allowing the presence of the Red Robes to interfere with the magic spell which he was casting. He looked into his tea cup, ignoring the danger to himself. “You’re welcome to look around.”

“Don’t worry,” sneered the second Red Robe. “We will. We’ve seen the goats, and the garden. More than you would need. There are others here.”

“I smell magic,” the first Red Robe said. “I smell yours, now. And I smell another’s. Where is he?”

“There’s no one here but me,” Josephus said, again.

“Kill him,” the first Red Robe ordered. Josephus looked up from his tea cup and smiled. The soldier’s sword swept through the old man’s throat. Josephus died instantly. The Red Robes and the four soldiers died a micro-instant later. The magical shield Josephus had woven expired with his death. The heat from the fire that he had spent the past hour focusing inside that shield exploded into the room.

“What was that?” Ulee asked.

“What was what?” Ian said.

“That noise … a magic noise,” Ulee said. “Look!”

Ian looked in the direction Ulee pointed, toward the farm a mile away. Dark smoke roiled into the sky. Ian turned and began running toward the farm, heedless of the orders Josephus had given for the boys’ safety.

“Ian! Wait!” Ulee said. “Josephus said to wait! We promised!”

Ian stopped and turned.

“Oh, Ian, don’t be so angry at me!” Ulee gasped as he saw the expression on Ian’s face.

Ian relaxed and took a deep breath. “I’m not angry at you, little Hedgehog. I’m angry at … no, not at Josephus, either. I’m angry at myself for forgetting my promise, and for putting us both in danger.”

“Josephus is dead,” Ulee said. “ I know it. That’s what I felt in the magic noise. He’s dead. What will we do?”

Ian hugged the smaller boy tightly as he cried. When Ulee’s sobs subsided, Ian spoke. “Do you remember the story of the mage who hoarded knowledge, and never took an apprentice?” Ian asked Ulee.

“Yes,” the boy sniffled.

“Master Josephus has two apprentices to remember him, Ulee. You and me. He would be happy, I think, if we do remember him and keep our promise to live for the Good.”

Comforted, Ulee wiped away his tears.

“If Josephus is dead, our oath to him no longer stands. We can leave here, and we can go back to the house,” Ian asserted.

“Do you think we should go back?” Ulee asked. “What if they are waiting for us.”

“No,” Ian said. “They’re not. Josephus killed them. That’s the smoke we saw. If any of them were still alive, they’d have found us by now.”

The boys found six horses tied in a copse a hundred yards from the house. In the kitchen were seven bodies. The boys found other things in Josephus’s room.

“The bag of coins is here,” Ian said.

“Should we take it?” Ulee asked. “It’s not ours.”

“Josephus doesn’t need it, and no one else has a claim to it. We were his apprentices, so it belongs to us, now. So do these books.”

Ian leafed through the books, looking for something he recognized. “Oh look, this one has pictures of herbs. I recognize most of them. See, that’s goldenseal. And these letters…” The boy paused and spelled out the letters Josephus had taught them. “They say goldenseal. I’m going to take this one … and finish learning how to read. Then, I can teach you.

“And this one … this is Josephus’ grimoire. I’m going to take it, as well. Perhaps someday we’ll find time to study it.” And, Ian thought, the wisdom to understand it.

“The horses of the red robes and soldiers cannot go where we must go, and we cannot care for them,” Ian said. “We must release them and hope that they can find forage, and survive on their own.”

Ulee nodded his understanding. He was relieved. He’d never been around horses, and was a little afraid that Ian would insist he ride one.

Ulee wanted to move Josephus’ body out of the room that held the remains of the Red Robes and their soldiers, but Ian had demurred. “It’s not Josephus, any more,” he said. “Josephus left the instant he created the fire that killed them. He stands now before the Sorter. He will be judged well and fairly. Perhaps in his next life he will live in Arcadia; or, maybe, maybe he’ll be an Elf.”

Ian’s words cheered Ulee. “I remember, the first time I saw Nana, I thought she was the Sorter,” Ulee giggled. “I was afraid she’d send me back to be a tanner’s apprentice.”

Ian nodded. “Come on,” he said. We have hours and hours of daylight left. We need to be far away from here.”

Let David know that you are reading his story. Email him at: David dot McLeod at CastleRoland dot Net

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