Path of the Magi (Tales of Tiberius) (21 page)

Things went well in her classes, too, so when her next birthday came around in mid-May, Tiberius came back into town. 

His first stop was his own family.  He found his mother out painting.  Kissing her on the cheek, he stepped around to admire her landscape.

“That’s really not bad,” he said. 

“I’ve been improving.  If you’d visit more often, you’d know that,” Tiberius’ mother said.

“Father doesn’t want me around; he made that quite clear,” Ti answered.

“Now, that isn’t fair; you know he didn’t mean that,” Greta replied.

“Do I?”

She put down her brush and turned to face him.  “Tiberius, by now you know that magic means different things to different people.  For Julian it means the works of the enemy.  He understands that you only mean to use the works of the enemy against him, but he doesn’t feel comfortable with that and he never will.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Tiberius asked.

“You’re supposed to act like the Christian boy I raised.  Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.  You need to repay your father's coolness with greater warmth and love.”

“It isn’t easy,” he said.

“You’re stubborn and proud, like him,” she replied.

“What do you think of this, Mom?  Am I doing the right thing?  You don’t seem as troubled by it.”

“Ti, I’ve had more exposure to magic than your father has.  I grew up in a home devoted to Odin, the all seeing father.  Growing up we did little bits of magic as part of our worship.  We’d cast runes and make our little spells to help the crops.  I even met with the elves now and then.  They showed us ways to speak to the spirits of the plants,” Greta answered him. 

“I didn’t know you were a magician,”  Tiberius said, smiling. 

“What you’re doing is infinitely more complicated than anything I ever attempted.  But I did my little bit in my time and I was good at it.  When the witch queens came to power they wanted anyone who showed any magical ability to work for them.  I would have none of it.  Around the same time I met some Christian missionaries.  Though them I came to understand that there was only one great spirit in the universe and that good things all came though Him.  I gave up any magic I ever used because I found a greater power in prayer.  I understand what you are going though now.  Not everyone I grew up with accepted my transformation or understood what I was doing.  But what I did, I did to make myself a greater servant of God.  I know you well enough to know that you are doing the same.”

“I hope I am doing the right thing,”  Tiberius said.

“If I thought you weren’t, I would tell you,” she replied.

Tiberius was struck by another thought and looked up at his mother. 

“You know, I never stopped to consider that any magic I possess might be hereditary,”  Tiberius stated. 

His mother laughed.  “I was never any great sorceress, Ti.  If you’ve inherited any ability from me in the art of magic, it is artistic ability and not magical power that I’ve passed along to you.  You’ve got my love of art and beauty, and I think that’s the greatest gift I could give to you.  Art is always something you can use in magic, though, Tiberius.  I do know that.”

Tiberius nodded.  “Dallen always calls it his art.  He says imagination’s as valuable an asset to a magician as all the raw knowledge of the universe.”

“Imagination’s a powerful tool, Tiberius; always keep that in mind.  Now, before you run off with Marcus, I want you to show me how you’re doing.  Why don’t you show me that hamster illusion you wrote me about.”

“I shouldn’t do magic lightly, Mom.”

“Oh, posh, even Jesus had to do miracles for his mom; don’t think you’re any better.  Let me see now while your father isn’t about.”

Tiberius spoke a word and the well dressed hamster appeared again, this time with a well formed top hat which he took off in a sweeping bow to Ti’s mother.  Greta Fuller looked down in amazement and then stared at Tiberius. 

“I’m not scaring you, am I?” he asked in alarm.

“No, it’s just, well, I saw some of the witch queens’ magic, Tiberius, back in the old days.  I had no idea you’d come this far this quickly.  They weren’t as good.”

“Dallen’s a good teacher,”  Tiberius mumbled.

“Yes, he is, and he’s right, you are a gifted student.  Well, you’d better go collect Marcus and Maci or you’ll be late,” she said.  As he turned to go she called after him, “You keep writing, young man.  And keep up with your studies.” 

Tiberius then left to catch up with Maci and Marcus and his kids.  Marcus had printed the programs for the match and helped Tiberius get some excellent seats for the joust.  A beautiful day in mid-May found Maci seated next to Tiberius, her father, and mother, watching a preliminary bout in the National Jousting Competition. 

Maci had been properly equipped for the occasion with a popcorn ball, a ribbon on a stick to wave, and a large cup of lemonade. 

“That’s Darras Walker, the National Champion,”  Tiberius pointed.  Darras was the picture of a knight: tall, blonde, in gleaming armor on a great grey horse he called Smoke.  He’d won one championship already and there didn’t seem much chance he was going to lose this one.  Already he’d scored a perfect score in the preliminary ring jousting event, his lance neatly spearing each of the small suspended rings.  Now he was simply waiting his turn to run the course against his fellow riders.

“He’s really good,” Maci said.  “I wish I had a horse like that.”

“You’ll have your own horse someday,” Tiberius said.  “I don’t think you’d want one like Smoke anyway.”

“No, probably more of an Arabian.  We’ll, I’d really like an Andalusian purebred, but I’d never afford that,”  Maci said.  Clearly it was a matter to which she’d given some thought.

“I'd have thought you'd want an elvish horse; they live longer,” Tiberius said. 

Maci looked at him like he'd lost his mind.  “Elvish horses are Andalusians.  Well, not all of them, but they brought Andalusians with them when they came over the seas.  Gillyian says they're the real purebreds.  Elves have breeding records going back thousands of years. Obviously it's a different sub-type than a horse that lives in Spain today.  Elf horses live longer because of elf magic, not because of the breed.  Honestly Ti, don't you know all this?  Don't they teach you anything useful at school?”

“My horselore is a bit weak, but I figure I'll mostly be fighting from foot.”  

The first round of ring jousting was done, The knights in the tournament were starting to walk about working the crowd a bit.  Darras' handler urged him onward.

“Better go get one of the local ladies to give you a favor.  The rest of the knights are doing it.”

Darras climbed into the saddle.  “You know I hate that.  Too many of them get the wrong idea.  I'm not here for a date.  God will bring me a wife in due time.”

The handler shrugged.  “That may be, but go do something with the crowd.  You know this is General Fuller's old town.  He may be semi-retired, but he's still a general in the militia and a bad word from him can still end your career.”

Darras glanced at the crowd.  “Is the general here?”

“No, he avoids these things like the plague.  I heard a rumor one of his sons may be in the audience, but wouldn't know him from Adam.”

Darras walked his horse Smoke along the crowd.  His friend was right; it would be good manners to ask for a favor from a lady in the crowd.  He was single, after all.  But which one? 

Smoke whinnied, and Darras followed his gaze.  There was a pretty little Asian girl sitting towards the front.  Couldn't be more than eleven years old.  Darras walked the horse over to her,  and presented his lance to the young lady.

“Smoke likes you, and he's a better judge of the ladies than I am.  May I ask for your favor, M'lady?”

Maci, surprised but delighted, quickly found a white lace handkerchief and tied it around his lance.  The crowd was delighted as well, with the possible exception of a few of the single women. 

Ladies' handkerchief in hand, he road back to the jousting lane and prepared for the joust.  The child's handkerchief brought him luck.  The very first pass, Darras rode down the course and easily unhorsed his opponent.  The opposing knight was knocked out of the saddle with such force that it caused the crowd to gasp.  It was easy to see what had earned Darras the nickname, “the hammer.”  Darras' good luck continued.  His next opponent also was cleanly unhorsed and Darras easily won the day. 

After the match he walked Smoke back over to the little girl and handed her back her handkerchief. 

“My sincere thanks, little one.  You brought me good luck.  Any special occasion today?”

Maci could hardly speak, but Marcus answered. 

“It's her birthday.”

“Well, happy birthday, little one,”  Darras smiled.  Ti gave him her program and a pencil and he signed her program for her. 

“Could I touch Smoke?  I know he's a warhorse,”  Maci asked very politely. 

Darras frowned, considering.  Smoke was a warhorse and usually that wasn't a good idea.  Still, Smoke did seem to like her and the little girl was polite. 

“Ok, just for a second and only because it's your birthday,”  he said.  Smoke was trained to bite, but he seemed to like this girl, so Darras was willing to risk it.     

Maci slowly and gently reached out and gave Smoke a quick gentle pat on the head.  Then she drew back and said "thank you" politely.  Darras bowed to her and rode off.   

  Later that night, Maci put the autograph and her handkerchief in a place of honor on her wall. 

Some months later, Tiberius was back at Dallen’s abode in Sherwood City.  Passing though the front hall, Tiberius met a young man in a green tailcoat suit with glasses and a dusty blonde goatee.  He had a matching green hat on which would have been perfect, if shrunk, for a leprechaun.  Tiberius thought he looked rather like a civilized Robin Hood.  He found him in the hall in front of Dallen’s clock poking at it with a small screwdriver.

“Hey, that tickles!” the clock said.

“And you are?”  Tiberius asked.  Anyone in a tailcoat struck him as either a dandy or a salesman.  He’d heard tailcoats were all the rage back in the Old World, but they’d never really caught on in the Stewardship. 

The young man spun around, a bit flustered, but smiling nonetheless.

“Russell, Russell Smyth.  Sorry, the clock here is just so fascinating; I just couldn’t resist a little peek inside the workings.  I’m expected.”

“Ah, you’ve come at last,”  Dallen said, entering the hall.  “Russell, this is Tiberius; you’ve heard me speak of him.  I expect he’ll be teaching you magical self defense when you are ready for that.  Heaven knows I’m having a time staying ahead of him.  Russ is joining us for his studies.”

“Oh, more math lessons?”  Ti asked.

“That and other things,” Dallen said.  “Russ is the son of a noted jeweler in the capital.  Some of his work is quite magical already.  I thought we might advance that part of his art.”

“Yes, I told Dallen that what I really wanted was a way to fix broken hearts.  He thought he might be able to help me with that.”

“Welcome aboard,” Tiberius said.  A magi could be a snappy dresser if he liked.  “Hope you’re ready for the ride.”

Dallen started Russ on a tour of his workshop.  Ti followed for a bit.  It was always worth a quick peek at what contraptions Dallen was working on.  Tiberius had learned the basics of magical craftsmanship by now, but he couldn’t touch Dallen’s skill at making magical artifacts.  He was glad to see Russ arrive, if only for that reason.  Someone else should be able to follow more directly in Dallen’s footsteps. 

One contraption that Dallen was working on caught his eye.  He had what looked like some sort of loom set up with what seemed to be mechanical spiders of various sizes working on weaving some type of fabric.  The smallest spiders seemed hardly the size of a pinhead, yet they had a curious mechanical gleam.  He wondered what on earth Dallen could be making now.  He decided not to ask, though.   Russ and Dallen were already well into clockworks and Ti did have a schedule to keep.

Tiberius went back to his studies in the capital.  He was in the student lounge one day when another student, a friend of his named Paul, came in and waved a newspaper at him. 

“Did you see this?  There was a dragon attack down in the city-states,”  Paul said.

Tiberius glanced at the paper.  “Yes, I heard about this.  He sticks his nose out every once in a while.  He’s pretty clever, really.  He generally grabs gold from disputed sources.  He kills other raiders, other dragons; here you see they were having some sort of argument about whose gold it was.  They were knocking each other out over it and now neither one of them has got the strength to go after a dragon for it.”

“He attacked Sherwood City, though didn’t he?  Some sort of unusual gold shipment?”  Paul asked.

“That’s right.  He’ll attack a big target if the money’s right.  He didn’t get any that time though.”

“That’s right, you lived in Sherwood City.  Did you see the attack?”

“Oh, yes.” 

“Hmm, I don’t know why he bothers.  I’ll bet he’s already got a ton of gold to sleep on by now,”  Paul said, wondering. 

“Dragons don’t comprehend the meaning of ‘enough gold,’” Tiberius explained.  “They lust after gold.  They always want more.”

“If you killed a dragon, do you get to keep the money?”  Paul wondered. 

“Why, are you going after him?”  Tiberius laughed. 

“No, just curious.  I mean you always hear about people catching one sleeping or something.”

“I think, realistically, you’d get to keep about half of it.”  Tiberius said.  “Dragons are pretty old and gold is gold.  You’d never be able to figure out where most of it came from or if he got by any of it legitimately.  There’s bound to be a few claims though, and taxes of course.  Not really a money making proposition, though, when you consider you have to fight the dragon for it.  That’s a class five dragon you know.”

“Class five?  There’s more than one type of dragon?”

“Oh, yes.  A five’s fully intelligent and able to use magic.  A four just breathes fire and is intelligent, but it can’t work magic.  A class three isn’t intelligent, just fire breathing.  Below that you have worms and dragonets.”

“I see.  What’s above a class five?”

“Nothing, I hope.  A class six would be a lesser deity, like the dragon in Revelations.  A five’s bad enough.” 

Summertime came and Tiberius moved back in with Dallen, at least for the first part of the summer.  Towards midsummer, Messura came by again and Tiberius was told he’d be taking a trip down to Walsingham to stay with Messura for the rest of the season.  It would be a chance to focus on his healing skills, an important part of the magi’s art. 

While Tiberius was off packing, Messura had a private audience with Dallen. 

Dallen was seated behind his desk in his private office; Messura just stood giving his senior a searching glance. 

“Must you stare?” Dallen asked at length.

“You’re looking tired, old friend,” Messura chided. 

“There’s always so much to do,”  Dallen said briskly. 

“The old longevity potion is starting to fail.  If you want to try and live forever maybe we should try something else.  Something a little more permanent,”  Messura said. 

Dallen gave Messura a glance over his glasses.  “I don’t wish to live forever, Messura.  I’m just not quite done here.  A few more years should be sufficient.  Then I can move on to other adventures.”

“How to live longer, that I can tell you.  How long to live, well that you and God must decide.”  They were interrupted by the noise of a trunk moving down the stairs.  “You have great hopes for him,” Messura continued.

“More than you know.  He’s a handful to keep up with.  He’ll have you looking up healing spells you’ve all but forgotten.”

“Teachers always learn more than their students,”  Messura smiled.

“I shouldn’t count on that,” Dallen said with a smile.