Wizard Dawning (The Battle Wizard Saga, No. 1) (5 page)

"What happened? Who hit me?" His voice sounded funny. It rumbled.

Meredith's eyes searched the room, stopping at the closed closet door and said "Sigurd where are you?"

"Mom I'm right here."

She looked back at him and said "Oh, my god!" Stunned, she stepped back and sagged against the hallway wall. "Did he say someone hit him?"

Grampa Thor walked over, put a hand on her arm, and looked back at Sig. "He's OK. Hit his head on the ceiling. It didn't hurt; just surprised him. I'm sorry." Her mouth dropped open at the sight of the hole in the ceiling.

Her eyes narrowed as she turned on Grampa. As if to curtail an outburst, he placed his hand on her shoulder and her anger seemed to deflate.

He stared into her eyes. "I had no idea this would happen. I'm almost as shocked as you and Sig. Before we get everyone further upset, why don't you go downstairs while I get this cleaned up, have Sig change back, and then we'll come down, and explain what happened. You probably need a drink. While you're doing that, I'll take a Stoli on the rocks with a lemon twist."

Surprisingly, she nodded in acquiescence. Sig expected her to react more like a mother bear. Maybe she was in shock from everything that happened today, like he was. Did Grampa use magic on her?

Taking her arm firmly, Grampa led her to the stairway. "Everything will be okay" He gently guiding her down the first step. When she continued down, he returned and closed the bedroom door.

He leaned against the door, looked at Sig, and shook his head and sighed. "You're going to need a bigger horse."

Grampa Thor pushed off from the door and spread his arms wide as he stepped over to put his hands on Sig's shoulders.

"OK, grab the sword. Leave it on the bed. Don't wipe out the room with it. Hold the grip and repeat after me. Koma aftur. It means 'return' in old Norse."

Sig repeated it. The room blurred and expanded around him. Grampa Thor grew; arms still extended but his hands no longer touched Sig's shoulders.

Grampa stepped back and dropped into the chair, leaving Sig kneeling in the middle of the room, holding the sword shaped amulet in his right hand.

Sig got up from his knees. "What happened?"

Grampa looked at Sig, as if staring through him. Sig sat down on the bed and repeated in a louder voice. "What happened?"

Grampa jerked, and his eyes focused. He looked at Sig, really looked at him. Sig felt uncomfortable under the penetrating stare.

Grampa sighed. "Well, those tests they gave you for magic are a crock. You have magic, powerful magic." He looked up at the fractured beam showing through the hole smashed in the ceiling plaster.

"At my most powerful, my battle helm would have brushed an eight-foot ceiling like this, or maybe the horns would have dented it a little. You, young man, were going right through the ceiling if your head hadn't run into that beam."

He raised his eyebrows and said. "I would guess you are nine feet tall. There's never been a nine-foot Battle Wizard. I was the tallest and the biggest."

Grampa patted his chest and grimaced, "At least I was until my recent problem. It's true what they say, size matters. For Battle Wizards size is proportional to magical strength."

Grampa Thor's words echoed in his head. He heard them but they didn't make sense. He felt surreal. Finally, he said. "I have magic? How could that be? I've never felt magic; never done anything magical."

Grampa barked out a laugh. "What do you call what just happened?"

Taken aback, Sig felt his face redden. "I didn't do that; this did." He held up the amulet.

Grampa shook his head. "Remember, I said Aðalbrandr focuses your magic."

At the sword's name, Sig's eyes widened in apprehension, and he looked between Grampa and the amulet.

Thor waved a hand. "Don't worry, it won't happen unless
you
say his name while you're holding him, so everything is copasetic. That's lesson number two—don't say his name if you don't want to change. As you saw, it happens quickly and impressively, if I do say so myself." A smile wrinkled his lips.

"You keep referring to it as 'him'. Why is that?"

"Hmmm. Never thought about it. It's always been a him, long before my time. Maybe because it focuses our magic and Battle Wizards are always men. Or maybe because it's a sword."

Sig held out the amulet. "Why don't you keep this and give me another one? Don't you need this?"

"There isn't another to give you. The mountain dwarf who made them, thousands of years ago, took the secret of the sword to his grave. Each family that has one of the few amulets made guards it jealously. Only one family tried to give theirs away after no child born to their line had magic. No one they tried to give it to could make its magic work. Eventually it was lost. I thought that would happen to our family. Edward had no magic and Meredith was his only child."

"But you said she has magic."

"Magic she has isn't the kind needed to control Aðalbrandr. I feared I would be the last in my line. But the first time I held you, I knew you had it."

"Where is it?" Sig growled in frustration.

"In some it takes longer to develop. Unfortunately, I don't have longer. The sword is yours now until you can pass it down our line. It will be what you make of it. It can be just a pretty necklace or you can step forward to take the lead. Your training starts now. Third lesson ― if you remain a Battle Wizard for an extended period, the more likely you are to develop a battle rage."

"A rage?"

"Have you ever heard of Viking berserkers?"

Sig nodded. "Living in Minnesota? You'd have to live under a rock not to have heard of berserkers."

"Berserkers were often Battle Wizards too long in battle shape, or Vikings following them into battle. Some of those early Vikings were nuts." He chuckled. "Hell, some of the current Vikings are nuts from what I see at football games."

His face grew serious. "How are you feeling now? The first change can be a shock, especially if you aren't adequately prepared for it by someone knowledgeable." He looked remorseful.

Sig stood stared at the wall. Playing quarterback on a 3A football team is the closest he'd come to leadership. That's a far cry from leading a fight against black magic.

Grampa Sig smiled and waved his hand for Sig to get up. "We've kept your mother in suspense long enough. If you're up to it, we should join her downstairs."

Sig took a deep breath then exhaled forcefully. He nodded and got up from the bed. "Let's talk to her before I lose my courage."

Grampa clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit. Forward, into the valley of death."

Sig didn't like the sound of that.

Sig and Thor walked into the great room where Mom waited.

A modern addition to the old farmhouse, the great room had expansive windows and a lofty ceiling. Meredith sat in a chair next to a wood fire snapping in the large stone fireplace. She had a slender glass of chilled white wine and a worried expression. With a gesture to the large recliner that had been Dad's and then Grandfather Edward's, she said, "Have a seat there Grampa. Your Stoli with a lemon twist is on the table beside it."

She looked at Sig for a moment then said, "You can have a beer if you'd like one."

Sig hesitated, then nodded, and headed to the kitchen. He returned quickly and sat on the raised stone hearth, elbows on his knees, hands cradling the bottle of beer.

Mom frowned as she studied Sig's face. Grampa Thor cleared his throat. "Meredith, as much as I'd like to pretend what happened to your son upstairs didn't, I guess I have some 'splainin' to do."

Meredith heaved a sigh and nodded.

Grampa Thor looked down at the floor for a moment then looked up. "Yes, you saw magic upstairs. Our family comes from old magic—from before the world changed. We have been practicing for thousands of years. Sig also carries the old magic. I sensed it the first time I held him, before magic changed ten years ago." He looked at the fire. "I never sensed magic in you or Edward, though I wished for it. Perhaps I am mistaken about you dear. My only excuse is that if you have magic, it differs from what I'm used to."

Grampa continued. "If a man in our line has magic, he can use Aðalbrandr, as Sig has."

Sig got up and handed the medallion to his Mom.

She took it in her hand, and then almost dropped it, reacting as if it had shocked her.

Meredith recovered, looked between them, and said, "It feels funny, like it's vibrating."

Sig and Grampa looked in surprise at each other. Grampa turned back to Mom. "I should have had you hold it years ago. Then I might have known about your magic."

He looked apologetic. "With changes to magic that have happened in the world, and mistakes that I've made, I'm not certain of things. Sig never demonstrated any magic … until today. Because of that, I didn't expect what you saw upstairs."

Mom smiled wryly. "Upstairs was impressive. Sig could revolutionize the position of power forward in the NBA, but what does it really mean to him?"

Grampa looked intently at Sig.

Growing uncomfortable, Sig said, "Does that mean it's time for me to leave the room so the adults can talk?"

Grampa blinked and then chuckled. "Sorry, lost in my thoughts. No. If anything, this would be when your mother left the room, while you and I talk. I wonder what it does mean to you. Normally, you would have already been exhibiting magic and I would train you, until you're ready."

He steepled his hands and pressed them against his lips. He looked from under his thick eyebrows at Meredith. "I've told Sigurd and I need to tell you. The little bug in my chest is more serious than I led you to believe." He exhaled a deep sigh. "I don't have much time left. I've recruited someone to train Sig—if I can't finish— someone at Northwestern University. I've established a trust for Sig to attend Northwestern. I know I'm interfering again, but it's in the boy's best interest." He looked at Sig and smiled. "Sorry … the man's best interest."

Grampa took on a pensive look. "Battle Wizards oppose dark sorcerers. This problem," he patted his chest, "is caused by black magic. The zombies" He waved towards the window which faced the barn. "That was more black magic. Creating zombies is necromancy. That's black magic. A Dark Sorcerer had to command them."

He pursed his lips and looked up at her. "Martin's body was found in the field that burned next to the cemetery. You questioned the medical examiner's decision that he was struck by lightning from a storm miles away."

"Yes, he said it was 'a bolt out of the blue'. I understand that those things happen, but I questioned why the lightning blasted through him instead of running horizontally, like you see on trees." She said.

"I should have listened better. You described what now sounds like the effect of a Wizard throwing a lance of fire or lightning. And it happened next to the cemetery, the probable source of those zombies we fought."

"Do you think that is why Dad had his shotgun with him when he died?" Sig asked.

Grampa nodded. "That well could be. He may have intended to protect his family and find out what was going on next to his farm. Perhaps he caught the Necromancer in the act and was killed. He wouldn't have known he was completely outmatched."

Meredith lowered her head and groaned.

"I'm sorry to bring it up dear, but there were a lot of zombies. It takes a long time to raise that many. I'd be surprised if there were any more. However, we need to be on the lookout for more of the dark sorcerer's minions. Zombies aren't the only thing they can summon—or even the worst."