A Drought of Magic

 “You’re a bright lad, Rowan,” Leo said encouragingly. “A bright lad indeed.”

“But I haven’t made any progress,” Rowan protested.

Rowan was a baron’s son, and Leo was his tutor. However, Leo was no ordinary tutor. He was a wizard. Though the King had outlawed magic long ago, Rowan had always had a secret obsession with sorcery. He had an insatiable curiosity, and magic was the ultimate unknown. One day, Leo had found him, and his training had begun.

The two of them, master and pupil, met three times a week at Leo’s cottage in a forest grove far from the city. The wizard’s house was hardly prepossessing. The cottage was a cluttered disaster, papers and books strewn about. Rowan wondered where the man slept, for there was no bed in sight. Did he sleep at all?

Leo stood in front of Rowan, leaning forward on his ornate, wooden staff for support. Rowan leaned against a particularly tall stack of books. They tumbled down and scattered about the room. Rowan jumped upright and stood embarrassed.

“Not to worry, my boy,” Leo said, snapping his fingers. At once, the books began to rise and circle about. Rowan stared in awe as the books stacked themselves.

“Now, Rowan,” Leo said, his face growing serious. “Your next lesson is one in thought. Tell me lad, why must our lessons take place here, so far from the city?”

“Magic’s banned, of course.” Rowan spoke without hesitation.

“That is the surface reason, granted,” Leo nodded. “But dig deeper Rowan. Why was it forbidden?”

“Well…” Rowan trailed off, pondering the question. “Because the King hates sorcerers?”

“Wrong.” Leo said impatiently. “Because people are afraid of what they cannot fathom. They are afraid of the unknown, and that is rational. Some respond to this fear by condemning that which they do not understand. But magicians like you and I… We must embrace the unknown.”

Leo raised a finger as if struck with a sudden thought, and then whirled around. He dug around in a pile of books and, after a moment, drew out a hammer. He held it out for Rowan to take.

“And here ends tonight’s lesson,” Leo said. “I shall continue this train of thought the day after tomorrow. Your task until then is to make this hammer move and work of its own accord.”

“But I can’t…”

“You can. And I’ll hear no more of it. Off with you lad.”

Rowan left that day in high spirits. The walk through the forest was always peaceful and allowed him time to think. He wondered whether his lessons were paying off. Leo was a brilliant man, but he was infuriatingly abstruse. Rowan often felt more confused at the end of Leo’s lessons than he did at the beginning. Leo insisted this was a sign of progress, but Rowan was not so sure. He eyed the hammer he carried, sure that he would not be able to complete the task Leo had assigned him.

It saddened Rowan to see the isolation in which Leo was forced to live. The old wizard was responsible for bringing the rain that had ended the five-year drought. He continued to bring down the rain that kept the crops growing and fed the villagers. Yet he was forced to live in secrecy.

As soon as Rowan reached his home, he ran to his room and shut the door. He placed the hammer on his table and stared at it with determination. Move, he thought. And he thought furiously, yet the hammer would not budge. He went to sleep that night, rife with disappointment.

The next night he tried again. He cursed and yelled at the hammer. He pressed his fingers to his temples and stared at the hammer for what seemed like an hour. Still, it did not move. He fell back on his bed dejected, when he felt a strange sensation. He felt as though he were floating, and the image of the hammer appeared in his mind; all other thoughts faded to the background.

Tap. Rowan jumped up and gasped; the hammer was moving about on the desk, tapping on the wood. He decided he could not wait a day�"he would go visit Leo at once. He grabbed the hammer and sprinted out of the room.

When he reached Leo’s cottage, he was surprised to find it empty. It was in the same state of disarray Rowan had grown accustomed to, but there was no trace of Leo. Just then a bell sounded. An ominous ring, and Rowan knew exactly what it meant.

He dashed back to the city and straight to the town square. Hordes of villagers stood in a circle, jeering and yelling out. Rowan’s father, the Baron, stood amongst them. In the centre of the square, Leo was on his knees, hunched over a headsman’s block. The executioner stood next to him, leaning on the handle of a sharp, cruel axe. The King himself stood nearby, donning a resplendent crimson robe and a sparkling crown. He wore a wry smile.

“Now I wouldn’t be rash if I were you,” Leo sputtered. The headsman kicked him in response.

“Rowan?” the Baron said, upon noticing his son. “Go away. This is no place for you.”

Rowan did not leave. Instead, he yelled out for the villagers’ attention.

“Leo isn’t dangerous,” Rowan began. The crowd began to hush. “He’s done no wrong to any of you. Why do you hate him so?”

The villagers began to scream out a vicious stream of curses and insults. The King raised his hand and all became quiet.

“He is peculiar. Different. He has no place among us,” the King said. “His power could destroy us all. Our children will not be safe wandering the woods with his presence there.”

“In all his years here he has harmed no one,” Rowan pleaded. “He has done only good. He ended the drought! And he continues to bring good fortune to the city.”

The villagers began to mutter. They were becoming uncertain.

“I’ve heard enough,” the King said stubbornly. He turned to the executioner and nodded. In an instant, the axe was in the air. The headsman swung downward and… The blade hit nothing but the stone ground. Leo had disappeared. All that remained in his place were a pair of his old boots.

In the following decade, the town experienced a drought twice as long and harsh as the previous. The King was eventually deposed and magicians were given the same rights and freedoms as the common folk. Every day, Rowan took the long trip out to Leo’s hut in the forest with the faint hope that Leo might be there. But each time he visited, it was empty. He continued to practice magic in the forest hut�"something about the place gave him comfort.

One day, as Rowan walked through the forest toward Leo’s hut, he felt a drop of rain hit the nape of his neck. Within moments, the rain was plummeting down, ending the ten-year drought. Rowan rushed to Leo’s cottage to escape the cold rain. He flung open the door of the cottage and gasped. Propped against the table was a wooden staff, and beneath the staff, a pair of old boots.