Date: Wed,  8 Dec 2004 04:21:15 -0800
From: polarlord@hushmail.com
Subject: Young Wizard -  Chapter 01(G/M A/Y)

Nigel Bishop was playing with butterflies in the summer afternoon sun at
the back of the long garden behind their cottage when his mother called
him. They did not realise that it was the first step, the start of his long
journey through a life that would be so different from any other normal six
year old boy. Their cottage was over 300 years old at the centre of an old
Wiltshire village buried in the heart of  England.  The ancient peace of the
village wrapped the villagers in timeless comfort.  His ancestors had lived
close to the village. They had watched the Roman soldiers come and go.
The lands around had lost half of their families to the Great Plague. Some
men died at the swords of the Parliamentarian soldiers, but still the
bloodline persisted like a golden thread though the ages. At the start of
that thread was a Norse invader. It showed in Nigel's pale skin, blue eyes
and silky blond hair.

The time was 1950 when England was recovering from the darkness of
the World War. Nigel's father was still away in the army, a component of
that same Regiment which had claimed the lives of his ancestors. In the
village life was quiet and showed little trace of the horrors of the conflict.
Few cars were seen on the tarred gravel roads children could wander
safely and every one knew each other. That familiarity went back through
the generations and there was care from the able bodied for the needy.

"Nigel, come in and get changed into your good clothes. We're going to
visit old Mrs Deaville. She is very old now and I promised the vicar that I
would tidy her garden."

Nigel felt a squeeze of fear on his shoulders. "Oh no, they were going to
visit the Witch".  All of the kids at school, even the Townie evacuees who
had stayed on, knew that Mrs Deaville was a witch. She must be over 100
years old and lived in a dark cottage by the village pond. The children
never saw her come out of the cottage, but they all knew that she lived in
there. It was a dark looming presence to be feared. They knew she was
blind and almost immobile, but if they ever trespassed in her garden to
steal plums or apples from the trees their parents would know before they
arrived home.

Nigel did not know that Mrs Deaville had been present at his birth as she
had with most of the children over the past 80 years. She had been the
midwife to the village and surrounding villages. It was she who handed
the bawling bundles of life to their sweating mothers. It was she who
gently passed the still parcel of disappointment and grief to weeping
mothers when the child did not survive. Mrs Deaville was one who knew
of the Old Ways, passed down through her ancestor women.

"Aww mum, do I have to go?  I promised I'd go down to the stream with
Billy?"

"Hush child, we must look after the elders. It's only a short time and when
we get back there is a cake that I've made.  Go now and get changed."

The tendrils of post-war food rationing had even reached out to this quiet
village. So the promise of a cake at teatime was a rich bribe for the young
boy. He ran upstairs and found that his mother had laid out his best
clothes. A grey school shirt, flannel shorts with blue bracers, long grey
socks and black school boots. The boots were polished, the clothes had
no patches and they were only just too big for him.

He shrugged his torn and patched play clothes to the bedroom floor and
wriggled into good clothes. As always one of the wings of the shirt collar
was askew. It was straightened by his mother when he rattled down the
stairs.  The nails in his boots were a source of joy to Nigel, he had the
best ones in school and they threw up great sparks at night when he
scuffed them on the road. His father had even sent some German
mountain boot nails over from where he was stationed with the Regiment.

There were many interesting things in the roadside grass verges and the
ditches to attract Nigel's attention as he followed his mother down the
lane to the Village Green. His mother knew that really he was trying to put
off the moment when he entered Deaville's cottage. She could understand
the young boy's fears.  The old lady could be an imposing person whom
no one in the village had the courage to cross.

"Come on Nigel, let's get there today, not tomorrow."

At the cottage door, open as was the norm in the village, she knocked and
called out.

"Hello Mrs Deaville, it's me Mrs Bishop. I've come to do your garden. Are
you sleeping?"

"No dear I'm up, come in. Why don't you put the kettle on and make us a
cup of tea.  I've got some orange squash in the cupboard for young
Master Nigel there."

Brenda Bishop did not know how the old lady had sensed that her son
was there. He was as quiet as a mouse standing tentatively by the door.
She knew that Mrs Deaville was now totally blind.  It had always been that
way. Mrs Deaville always seemed capable of knowing who was there and
what they were thinking even in the darkness of her world.

"Young master Nigel.  Come over here and let me see how you have
been growing.  You must be a big six year old boy by now."

The old lady never forgot any of the babies that she had delivered into this
world. She followed each of their lives and for some she was also present
at their burial.   Nigel received a tug from his mother and he reluctantly
walked over to the witch fearing her touch. He noticed that close up she
didn't look so frightening and she didn't smell like the other old people.

He stretched his hand out to the wrinkled hand of the old lady. For the
second and last time in his life their flesh made contact. At first her hand
felt cool to touch, but quickly Nigel felt a growing warmth pass between
themselves. Soon it was almost hot. He tried to pull his hand away, but
she held on.

"Brenda dear, you'll be wanting to go to the garden and get me some
flowers."

Mrs Bishop felt the overwhelming compunction to go to the garden now.
She knew that she had to leave her son alone with the old lady. Her son
would be safe, but she had to go now.  She left the room and was soon in
the garden among the flowers, knowing that her son would come and
collect her when the time was right.

Nigel did not notice his mother leave the room. Suddenly the old lady
released his hand, but his body felt warm and comfortable.

"Come close and listen hard young master Nigel. You will need to
remember this, as I don't have long now. I won't be here to guide you but
you will find your way ok. They told me that you would come, but I didn't
really believe it. You do not know it, but you are a Guardian but you are
the last of your line as am I. The blade will find you and protect you once it
has tasted your blood. You will not know its full power until your milk
comes. From then you will be its guardian. Guard it well for it has great
power for both good and evil. You will have 50 years to complete your last
task, that task will be to hand the blade over to the next Guardian."

With that, the old lady closed her misty eyes and fell asleep. Nigel went
into the garden to find his mother. Puzzled by and not understanding what
the old lady had said to him.

"Hi Nigel, I thought I'd come out and get some nice flowers for Mrs
Deaville. She's not as bad as you thought, is she?"

"She's asleep now, seems a bit crazy to me."


Continued ...