The Chronicles of Brendan Earle, Apprentice Mage.

Initiation

Adam

There was a small settlement at the river, where a stone bridge crossed over, with a jetty on the downstream side. I couldn’t see much of the settlement, as it was walled, with crenelated and clearly well-maintained walls. A pele tower of lichened stones stood higher than the other buildings and looked out over the farm houses and fields outside.

Again, it looked like Northumberland, a land fought in and over for years until the Union of the Crowns, except our towers are ancient ruins. As someone taken, by the age of nine, to just about everything the Romans and the Reivers had made, I wondered what would make that wall a necessary expense.

We walked to the jetty where some small wooden boats were tied up and waiting for us. The boats were made of overlapping wood planks, rather than plywood, and looked solid. The seniors sorted us, kids and adults, to each boat. I was in the one with the Scot, a wild-haired, wild-bearded, bloodshot-eyed guy who might have been mid-thirties, hard to tell with that beard. He’d the look of an amiable character, but one you wouldn’t cross if you met in a pub, not unless you were desperate for a head-butt.

He untied the boat and pushed it off. I looked at the sail, still furled, and then at the little flag on top of it. It wasn’t so much as twitching; there wasn’t a breath of wind, so I dismissed the idea of sailing. I wondered how we were going to get downriver, and thought we must be going to drift, when the Scot lifted a hand to the mast.

“Hoist,” he ordered, and the sail did, all by itself. Still no wind, but it didn’t bother him. “Mind the boom there, eh,” he said, and blew a kiss lightly at the mast. The sail filled as though a breeze had just come up, the boom swung around and the boat started moving smoothly through the water. I heard a few wows from the other passengers, but, when I looked around, I saw the other boats were the same; sails gently filled by a wind that wasn’t disturbing a hair on my head. Why be surprised? This was meant to be a world where magic worked, after all.

“Okay now lads and lassies. My name is McGregor. You may address me as Senior McGregor, if you’re feeling polite, or just Senior if you’re feeling lazy. There are those who refer to me as Jock, but you are not yet among them, so don’t make the mistake o’ trying that, okay? Now, one way and another I had a bit of a night last night, y’know? So, what I really want to do just the now, is to get my head down and grab a few zees, right? Keep it down to a low scream and wake me up when we get to the city, okay?”

Then he curled himself up on the seat at the back of the boat and went instantly to sleep – the snores were genuine and a dead give-away. The rudder seemed gripped by some invisible hand and kept the boat aimed neatly down the centre of the river. There wasn’t much more to say or do about all that, so I turned my attention to my fellow passengers.

I was sitting third in line next to one of the two girls in our boat. From her face I guessed her to be about thirteen. Her hair was in tight corn rows and she had the same looks as a couple of Ethiopian girls I had studied with on my uni course. She had that lean, East-African build, and a face that belonged on Sade’s baby sister. I was about to introduce myself when one of the boys in front of us turned around.

He looked at me, nodded and then dropped me from his world while he turned his attention to the girl. “Hi, er, do you speak English?” The ice on the reply, “Yes”, would have slowed most blokes, but he didn’t seem bothered. “So, er, what part of Africa are you from then, eh?”

You could tell she considered her reply, from the way she leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her head cocked slightly to one side before saying, “Have you heard of the bit called Kingston-upon-Thames?” The boy was now obviously groping for reverse gear, but didn’t make it in time.