Off to Be the Wizard - 2 - Spell or High Water (4 page)

5.

Martin didn’t know what his next move would be, but he knew he’d have to make it in the next five seconds. He was flying as fast as he dared, at an altitude of seven feet above the forest floor, high enough to not get caught in the undergrowth, but low enough to avoid getting hung up in the canopy. He held his staff in front of him, tilted so as to be parallel to his body. The last thing he needed was his staff slamming into a tree trunk
sending
him
falling
in a heap to the ground. He couldn’t slow down because one of his pursuers was flying right behind him. Martin was sure he was losing ground, since he had to find his way through the trees, while all his attacker had to do was follow him and fly through the Martin-shaped hole. Martin would have just flown straight up, punching through the canopy and
emerging
into the clear blue sky above, except that he knew there was a second pursuer lurking up there, waiting for Martin to emerge into the open, presenting a clear target.

Martin glanced upward and saw a black shape moving fast above the treetops. He lowered his gaze just in time to see and almost dodge a dead limb hanging limply from the live branches that supported its weight. He tried to swoop under it, but wasn’t quite fast enough. It grazed painfully across his back, then fell to the forest floor. In an act of hopefulness Martin glanced behind him, and cursed when he saw the purple blur that was gaining on him zip right over the top of the fallen branch without having to alter course, or even decelerate.

He knew from memory that a river cut through the woods, and that he’d be reaching it soon. He would lose his cover and be a sitting duck for the bogey above the trees. If, on the other hand, he slowed enough to turn away from the river, the
purple
blur behind him would overtake him and knock him out of the air. To make matters worse, there was a third attacker out
there somew
here who had been delayed at the start of the chase, but would certainly be back into the fray by now.

Martin only had himself to blame. He had gotten so caught up in the excitement of having a trainee that he’d forgotten that there were people who would attack him on sight.

The day had started on such a positive note. Martin awoke to find that Roy was already up. Martin produced breakfast for them, and while Roy was amusingly disturbed to eat food that had been pulled out of a wizard’s hat, he was clearly equally
disturbed
that the breakfast consisted of a McDonald’s bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit and a solid slab of hash browns.

Once breakfast was done, Martin set about getting Roy up to speed.

Martin showed Roy his top-of-the-line 2012 laptop, which, since Roy was from 1973, was as astonishing to him as any magic trick Martin had done. Martin explained that until recently the wizards from farther in the future had tried to keep later
technology
from the earlier wizards in the interest of not messing up the timeline more than they had to, but that recent events had shown that this put earlier wizards at an unfair disadvantage, and that the timeline didn’t seem to care what they did.

Roy asked Martin to explain that last part, and Martin explained that most wizards went back to their original time on a regular basis, and that nobody had found a single change, no matter what the wizards did in the past. He briefly explained the two predominant theories: that they existed in a separate
timeline
created by whatever program used the file, or that at some point in the future something would happen to clean up the mess they were currently making. Martin trailed off when it became clear that Roy had lost interest in the philosophical discussion and just wanted to play with Martin’s computer.

Maybe we’ll get along after all
, Martin thought.

Once Roy was done boggling over Martin’s laptop, Martin explained about the shell program, the interface that Phillip and the former chairman, Jimmy, had developed to make it easy to utilize the file that brought them all here. He explained to Roy the powers that the shell could bestow upon anyone who knew that it existed and took the time to learn how to use it. He told Roy that he need not age. He’d never be too cold or too hot again. He could speak any language fluently. Most important, he explained that while he still needed food, water, and air, he was impervious to physical damage.

If Roy wore a robe and hat that met certain measurements exactly, the shell would recognize him as a wizard and he’d have the powers of flight and teleportation, and the ability to
create
food, money, and almost anything else out of thin air. Martin also promised Roy that when his training was complete, and he’d passed his trials, that Martin would set him up with a laptop, so that he could go back to his own time at will, if he wanted.

“That’s if you accept the training. If you choose not to, I’ll just assume you’re up to no good and send you back home so the CIA can pick you up. So, Roy, do you accept the training?”

With a sales pitch like that, Roy didn’t have to think long.

Martin spent a little time at the computer, getting Roy set up in the shell, then Martin announced that it was time to go. There had been some unpleasantness a while back, and now he and a few of his wizard friends were making a point of getting together once a week to compare notes and share new shell scripts they’d devised that could be used in an emergency. He brought Roy along so he could meet the guys and see what kind of things they’d been working on. Having worked in the defense industry, he might find it interesting.

Martin and Roy materialized in the middle of a large
clearing
about five miles away from Leadchurch. Martin’s friend Gary had picked it because it was large, flat, and surrounded by thick woods on all sides. The wizards had all the room they needed to demonstrate and test new spells without having to worry about any locals sneaking up on them. Even if someone did sneak up on them from the forest, that person would have to move
amazingly
fast to reach the middle of the clearing before the
wizards
could react.

Martin, in his silver robe and hat, staff in hand, and Roy, wearing his trench coat, skinny tie, and sensible shoes, stood alone in the middle of the field. Martin spun around, then said, “Oh, no.”

A gray shape emerged from the tree line, moving amazingly fast. Two more shapes, one purple, one black, were closing on their position from other directions.

Martin remembered Gary proposing a new plan to keep each other on their toes. He called it
the Kato Protocol
. It was a simple idea. The wizards would attack one another
without
any
provocation
or warning. It would ensure that they all stayed in fighting shape, it would force them to be aware of their
surroundings
, and, most important from Gary’s point of view, it would be fun.

“Sounds good,” Martin had said. “When do we start?”

“We’ll see,” had been Gary’s reply.

The streaks of color were almost on top of them when Martin yelled, “Time out!”

The streaks stopped in midair, floating motionless in a rough triangle around Martin and Roy. Tyler’s purple robes hung beneath him, flapping slightly in the breeze. The sun glinted off of the Rolls Royce hood ornament that topped his staff. Jeff landed, tucking his wand into the pocket of his gray flannel robe. Gary drifted around in front of Martin and Roy. His long, scraggly brown hair jutted out from around his jet-black hat. Beneath the hem of his black robe, his skinny legs and black canvas high-tops hung five feet above the turf. He pointed the head of his staff, adorned with KISS action figures, toward Roy, and said, “Hey Martin. Good to see you. Who’s the new guy?”

“Gary, Tyler, Jeff, this is Roy, my trainee. He just arrived last night. He doesn’t have any powers yet, and doesn’t know what’s going on, so it would be really unfair to attack him.”

Despite his clear age difference, and uptight demeanor, the three younger wizards welcomed Roy in a genuinely friendly manner. Martin was relieved to note that despite Roy’s age,
cultural
background, and year of origin, he didn’t seem to miss a beat when introduced to Tyler, who was possibly the only black man in England at this time in history.

They all agreed that they couldn’t attack him, since he couldn’t really defend himself.

Jeff said, “I could explain to him what’s going on, though.”

“Good thinking,” Tyler said, still floating in an aggressive posture. “That’ll free Martin up to be attacked.”

“And us, to attack him,” Gary added.

Martin said, “Fair enough.” He blurted out the magic word
flugi
and was off for the tree line like a shot. As he streaked away, a shiny silver ball of speed, he faintly heard Jeff talking to
Roy. Marti
n thought Roy and Jeff would have much to talk about, both being engineers.

Martin made a mental note to work on some sort of fast-getaway sprint spell to help him really accelerate when he needed to fly away from trouble. Some sort of glowing projectiles flew past Martin, striking the ground in front of him. Martin chose to ignore them, figuring that, like bullets, they were only his problem if they hit him.

Martin made it to the tree line with Tyler in hot pursuit. Gary, who had been slower to react, chose to go over the trees and try to head Martin off at the pass, so to speak. Now the pass was in sight. Martin could see a dark shape hanging above the trees, clearly watching him, waiting for him to emerge from the woods. Unless he did something fast, Gary would almost certainly hit him with something. He didn’t know what, but knowing Gary, it would be something unpleasant and probably immature.

Happily, Martin had been working on a few ideas. He had that big workspace in his warehouse; it’d be a cri
me not to use it.
Martin
reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black
beanbag
. He aimed for a gap in the trees with empty space beyond, looked behind him at Tyler, who was closing fast, slowed a bit, then tossed the beanbag over his shoulder. It flew in a
graceful
arc, sailing over Tyler, missing him completely. Martin made a grasping gesture with his right hand and said, “Bamf.”

Martin disappeared in a puff of black smoke, which violently dissipated when Tyler flew through it. In the same instant, Martin appeared directly behind Tyler, generating another puff of black smoke. It appeared as if he had materialized and miraculously caught the beanbag, but in truth, his right hand had materialized around the beanbag, and the rest of it with him.

Martin stopped all forward movement and watched as Tyler flailed, utterly confused by what had just happened. He sailed out of the woods, and instantly was struck by a pulse of energy from above. Gary had clearly mistaken Tyler for Martin.

For a moment Tyler spun in the air. Something clearly was wrong. Then, Martin saw that a small grayish object of some sort was stuck to the small of Tyler’s back, right where he’d been hit. Purple smoke started shooting from the object with quite a bit of force, enough to push Tyler into an uncontrollable spin. The smoke was accompanied by a sound, similar to the sound of a whoopee cushion, but much louder and longer in duration. The purple smoke also had an odor. The odor was familiar, and not at all pleasant.

Tyler spun in the air like a foul-smelling pinwheel. The whoopee-cushion sound was drowned out momentarily by the sound of Tyler cursing at Gary. The thrust from the whoopee-rocket stabilized slightly, and sent Tyler corkscrewing helplessly into the sky, yelling and cursing as he went.

Martin dropped gently to the ground and crouched there in the thicket. He tucked his staff under his left arm and wound up so that he’d be ready to throw his beanbag.

Cautiously, Gary dropped below the tree line, looking for Martin. He hovered, staff in one hand, the other hand shading his eyes so he could see into the darkened forest. He expected to find Martin flying above the ground, but it didn’t take long to spot Martin’s shiny silver robe and hat in the dark brown and green of the woods. It also didn’t take long to notice the black object flying very quickly towards him.

The beanbag struck Gary painlessly in the chest. A split
second
later, Martin was there, grasping Gary around the neck with one arm, pulling down with all of his weight. Gary toppled over forward. He found himself beneath Martin, who pushed off from him with both feet, driving him even faster into the ground. Gary hit the ground with great force while Martin drifted down gently to Earth.

Gary lay motionless for a moment in the scrub grass along the river bank, eyes closed, gathering his strength, hopefully
luring
Martin in closer. After a carefully timed interval, Gary sprung up into a three-point crouch, his staff held in front of him. His defiant laugh was made less dramatic by the fact that he misjudged Martin’s location and had sprung up
facing
away from him. Gary felt something soft hit him in the back, heard Martin say, “Bamf,” then felt Martin’s full weight bear down on his back, buckling his arm and forcing him back into the dirt.