Off to Be the Wizard (15 page)

Phillip looked at the girls, then the bench, then the girls again, and asked the question Martin wanted to ask. “Does Donald Junior sit on the floor?”

“Not in my house he doesn’t! I’m raising him to be a man, not an animal!”

“Then … does he sit on the bench with his sisters?” Phillip pressed.

“Why does it matter where the boy sits?” Donald Senior asked.

“I need to check for … demonic residue.”

“Oh, is that what that is?” The youngest sister blurted before every Melick in the room’s eyes silenced her.

“When they were younger, the boy sat on the bench with his sisters, but they’re all too grown.”

Phillip tried to give the subject a rest, but after a moment, even Bishop Galbraith needed to know. “So, where does the lad sit?” The Bishop asked.

“He’s young and has strong legs,” Mr. Melick said. “Standing will help make a man out of him.”

Phillip turned and made eye contact with Martin. He didn’t need to say anything. In one sentence, Donald Melick had said it all. Bishop Galbraith asked probing questions, and in answering them, a clear picture of Donald Junior’s life emerged. His father was a simple man. Not dumb, simple. He loved hunting, fishing, and farming. He married Jan and set out to create a son with whom he could hunt, fish, and farm. Three attempts left him with three daughters to feed via hunting, fishing, and farming, and still nobody (as far as he was concerned) to hunt, fish, or farm with.

When Donnie was born, Donald Senior tried to ensure that his son shared his passion for outdoorsmanship by talking about nothing else for fifteen solid years. The boy had not wanted for attention and love, though. It appeared his mother and sisters had loved him to within an inch of his life. Their father gave the girls permission to speak, and speak they did, at length, about how they all took an active role in raising their baby brother. Helping to feed him, to dress him, reminding him to stand up straight, say please and thank you, to not talk back, to respect his elders, to do as he’s told, and above all else, to be grateful that he has so many people who care about him.

“But no matter how much we correct him, he isn’t grateful,” Kitty, the eldest Melick girl said.

Lately Donnie had become quiet and sullen. He’d moved to an old shed out back. “I don’t see why,” Mr. Melick said. “I’ve worked damn hard to give him a nice place to stand in here. The worst of it is that he’s taken to hanging around with those bastards.”

“Which bastards?” the priest asked.

Phillip said, “Uh, I think he means The Bastards, they’re sort of a gang. Only the leader Kludge and a few of his buddies are really scary. Most of them are just kids who hang out playing and listening to bad music.”

Finally, Mrs. Melick asked Bishop Galbraith and Phillip, “What do you think? Is our Donnie possessed by a demon?”

Martin shook his head. Bishop Galbraith said, “Yes. I’m certain of it. Your boy is host to a demon.”

Martin had expected as much. When Phillip opened his mouth, Martin anticipated an argument.

Phillip said, “I agree.”

The shed was about thirty yards behind the main house. It looked small and leaky. Mr. Melick led the priest and the two wizards across the yard, past an impeccably-manicured vegetable garden, to the shed. When they arrived, Mr. Melick abruptly opened the door.

A voice from inside the shed yelled, “I told you to knock!”

Mr. Melick yelled back, “And I told you it’s my bloody shed and my bloody door, and I don’t need nobody’s permission to open it. Stand up straight, boy. You got visitors.”

Donnie came to the door. He had lank, greasy hair and an impressive collection of blemishes. His general bearing said that he didn’t want to see anybody.

Mr. Melick invited Martin, Phillip, and Bishop Galbraith into the shed over his son’s protests. He started to come in as well, but Bishop Galbraith stopped him.

“What transpires within these walls is not for your eyes.”

“Why not? They’re my walls, and the boy is my son!”

Bishop Galbraith was firm. “We cannot proceed if you remain here. Terrible forces will be unleashed. If you stayed, you would see things you could never forget, things that would shake you to your very core.”

Donald Senior turned to go back into the house, but stopped after one step. He turned back to face Bishop Galbraith. His eyes softened and his eyebrows arched, making him look both concerned and puzzled. “You … you lot aren’t going to hurt my boy, are you? Look, I know what I said, and I meant every word. I don’t want to be so hard, but it’s a hard world, and I … I don’t want to see him hurt.”

The Bishop put a reassuring hand on Donald Senior’s shoulder. “I give you my word; we will not hurt the boy. Now, please leave us to it. Go back to your home and keep the ladies in there as well. We’ll let you know when it’s over.”

Phillip made a show of producing a jar of mystery dust from his hat and then sprinkling the dust on the ground in front of the shed. Then he waved the figure made of sticks in his left hand and the dead frog in his right. Mr. Melick watched for a moment, shook his head and went into the house, shutting the door behind him. The Bishop turned to Phillip and said, “Please see to it that we’re not disturbed.” Phillip dropped the frog and the stick figure on the ground. He walked to the nearest exterior corner of the shed, put his back to the corner, took three large paces, planted his staff firmly on the ground and said, “Nevidebla barilo timiga.” He then walked the perimeter of the shed, maintaining his distance, and every few yards planting his staff again. When he had walked a full lap of the shed, he planted the staff again and repeated, “Nevidebla barilo timiga.” Martin understood that Phillip had created a boundary of some sort. He asked if it would hurt anyone who tried to cross it.

“Heavens, no,” Phillip said. “The shed will glow and they’ll hear a random combination of screaming, growling, and chanting. The closer they get to the shed, the louder and brighter it will get.” He told the Bishop it was done, and they all went back into the shed, closing the door behind them.

From the outside, the shed looked tiny, but it felt noticeably larger on the inside. It helped that it was practically empty. There was a pile of straw in the corner that served as a bed. There were some stout, roundish chunks of firewood that served as seats, Martin guessed. The boy’s meager possessions, a knife and a candle, were on a broad, flat hunk of firewood that was acting as a bedside table. Along one wall, two chunks of firewood supported a rough wooden plank, on which there were a couple of interesting looking carved pieces of wood. Martin figured that firewood served the same purpose as stolen milk crates or mail bins in his friends’ bachelor apartments back in his own time. Martin felt at home in the shed. It was like a modern teenage boy’s room, only much more flammable. The boy, Donnie, had retreated to his pile of straw, folding up his arms and legs in an attempt to disappear. He looked out at his unwelcome guests through a screen of his own greasy hair.

“Hello, Donnie. It’s good to see you again. I’m sorry about the circumstances,” Bishop Galbraith started.

The boy grunted.

The priest continued. “I don’t know if you’ve met Phillip or his apprentice. They’re wizards.”

The boy’s eyes flicked quickly to Phillip and Martin. He grunted again.

“Mind if we sit?” The priest asked.

“You’re gonna anyway.” The boy said, in a surprisingly deep voice.

“No. This is your home, and we won’t sit until you invite us to.”

They all stood in silence for a few moments, then the boy said, “Sit if you want. I don’t care.”

The three men each found a piece of wood and had a seat. They sat in a vague triangle, the Bishop closest to the boy, Phillip behind the Bishop on his right and Martin slightly further back to the left. Once they were all sitting, there was another silence, which was broken by the boy.

“They think I have a demon. Do you think I have a demon?”

The Priest turned and looked at Phillip, then looked at Martin. Phillip nodded. Martin looked confused.

“No, Donnie,” the priest said, “I don’t think you’re possessed. I think you have a father who forces the land to give him what he wants, and thinks he can force his family to do the same. I think you have three sisters who all think they’re your mother. I think your mother loves you dearly, and sees that you’re a good lad but there’s only so much she can do because she’s in the same family you are. I think you’d be happy to do your chores if they’d just leave you alone to do them. You’d likely spend more time with your family if they let you decide when. You’d probably tell them what you’re thinking if they didn’t constantly pester you to, then punish you for it when you do.”

The boy said nothing. He just glared at the priest, not moving a muscle.

“Do I have it right?” The priest asked.

The boy blinked, then lunged forward. He seized the priest in a bear hug, and started sobbing violently, gibbering unintelligibly. Eventually he lost momentum and let go of the priest. Instead of going back to his pile of straw, he cleared off his end table and used it as a stool. He slumped sullenly and talked for a long time. He talked about his parents, his sisters, the other people in the village who were his age. The Bastards. Kludge’s frightening personal habits. Girls, he talked a lot about girls. Finally, he ran out of steam.

Bishop Galbraith said, “Here’s the deal. That lot back in the house thinks you have a demon. We’re going to convince them we rid you of it. We’re going to tell them that they have to make the shed more comfortable, and knock before they come in. We’re going to tell them to tread lightly with you for a while, leave you alone if that’s what you want. But we need you to promise to make an effort to be nice to your family. It’s hard, but it will make your life easier. Any time you need to talk, you can come to me or Phillip. Tell your family that you’re thinking of becoming a wizard or a priest. They’ll like that.”

“Can I become a wizard?” The boy asked.

“No,” Phillip said, “sorry. You’re either born with it or you’re not. Your parents don’t know that, though.”

“Can I become a priest?”

“No,” Bishop Galbraith said, to Martin’s surprise, “Not yet, at least. In a few years, if you still want that, we can talk, but you’re too young to make that decision now.”

Phillip rubbed his hands together. “Now that that’s all settled, it’s time for the fun part.”

Bishop Galbraith chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it is. Shall I go, or do you think your apprentice is ready to help?”

“Oh, I fully trust him to do his part,” Phillip said. “He’ll probably be better at it than you or I.”

Donald Junior was not comfortable with the direction the conversation was going. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m kind of wondering about that myself,” Martin said.

“We’ll explain,” Phillip said.

Bishop Galbraith turned back to Donald Junior. He put a reassuring hand on the boy’s knee. “Donald, the next five minutes will be very unpleasant. I think you’ll enjoy it!”

Donald Junior’s family was sitting on their benches, looking concerned when Martin burst in the back door. He looked like he was barely staving off panic. Everyone else turned to face him, but Mrs. Melick rose instantly to her feet. Martin looked frantically around the room.

“What do you need, lad?” Mrs. Melick asked.

Martin darted around the room, clearly hunting for something he couldn’t find. “We need a plank, a platter. Something broad and flat. The Bishop needs it for his sacraments.”

“Kitty!” Mrs. Melick snapped, “Fetch the good platter.” The girl seemed too stunned to move.

“GO!” Jan Melick said, and Kitty leapt up from the bench and ran to the kitchen, which was really just a well-organized corner of the main room. “What else do you need?”

Martin squeezed his eyes shut and wiggled his fingers in an attempted to dislodge the information stuck in his brain. “Aah, ummm. JUICE! Or cider, or something like that! My master says the boy will need something to drink. Something nourishing that will give him back his strength.”

“We have a jug of cider, but it’s gone a bit hard.”

“That will do.” Martin said.

“Cider’s not cheap, you know,” Mr. Melick said.

“It will do,” Mrs. Melick said.

“Been saving it. Letting it harden up.” Mr. Melick said.

“It. Will. Do.” Mrs. Melick repeated in a tone that said it would be the last time. Mr. Melick sighed heavily and told Kitty to bring the jug of cider as well.

A moment later, Kitty had the platter (a two-foot square wooden plank painted cheerfully, with handles carved onto the ends) and an earthenware jug with a stopper in the top. Martin took the platter, but Donald Senior had hoisted himself from his bench and took possession of the jug. “Let’s go,” he said.

“My master told you, what is happening in the shed is not for your eyes,” Martin said.

“No, your master said very little, and it’s a good thing, because I didn’t invite him here. The Father told me, and I’m not listening. It’s my shed and it’s my cider, so I’m going to see what you’re all up to!”

Jan Melick was furious. “It’s your son, Donald!”

“That too. Let’s go, apprentice. Time’s wasting.” Mr. Melick started toward the door. As Martin reluctantly followed him, he was stopped by Mrs. Melick’s hand on his arm. She looked Martin in the eye, and asked in a small voice, “Will he be all right?”