The ribs were surprisingly good. It got very dark outside, pitch black. It was so dark that the lights reflected off the snow that was there, and the temperature dropped at least ten degrees.
“Ever built a fire?”
“We never roughed it like that,” I said.
“You ain’t lived,” he laughed. “I’ll save you from that and instead you wash the dishes. Put out the light and then come to the fire to listen to old stories.”
Anybody else would have groaned at that. I was thrilled.
I had my back to him so I didn’t see how he had the fire going. “Boy, go out front and get another cord o’ wood.”
“I have a name,” I said, rinsing off a plate.
“Was wonderin’ how long you were going to let me do that.”
I stopped, turned around. He had his back to me, his hands stretched out to a roaring fire. “I was supposed to tell you when to stop calling me ‘boy’?”
“A witch knows when to assert his authority.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “That don’t mean because I’m older than you I need to have more authority over you.”
“It’s – It’s what I’ve been brought up with.”
“Ya need to get over that.” He turned back to the fire. “What’s your name again?”
“Mike,” I said, heading to the door to go get more wood. When I got outside, it was freezing – and silent. I heard maybe the sound of something falling from a tree, probably snow, and a small thump as it hit the ground. I heard myself grunt as I lifted a cord of wood with both hands, and leaning back precariously while I carried it. I struggled getting it inside, and weaved a little back and forth as I carried it to the fireplace.
There were at least half a dozen other cords of wood there. I glared at Walking Turtle. “You already had some here.”
“I was testing a theory, and it’s true.” He wheeled backwards, and straightened himself so he was parallel with the fireplace. “Shut off the lights, and I’ll tell ya.”
I did shut off the lights and sat down hard on the carpet at his feet. This was the typical apprentice-master position, but, for once, I didn’t mind. I believed Turtle wouldn’t be like the other mages. Turtle would tell me the truth. I don’t know what made me think and believe it, but I did.
“You live on magic. You live it, breathe it – it does everything for you. How long since you’ve been with the Rosy Knights?”
“Two days.”
He laughed, “Oh, Mike, you have not even begun to fight!” He paused. “Q asked me to test you, to watch you for the next couple of months.”
“Months?!”
“He don’t trust that daemon of yours, and neither do I. He thinks it’s a demon, and so do I.”
I was starting to get really sick and tired of Grimalkin being called a demon all the time. If she was such a demon, why was she always looking out for me? Telling me things just when I need them most? Showing me how to find power?
Turtle looked down at me. “You don’t like the idea?”
I was glad he misread me. “What about Dottie?”
Turtle waved his hand. “Dottie will be all right. In fact, he’s doing it to protect her.”
“She’s not evil!” I blurted out. “My daemon is not evil!”
“No? Then why doesn’t she tell you all the things you need to know?”
“Will you tell me the things I need to know?”
“Sure. Ask away.”
“How do you move a mountain?”
“One stone at a time.”
I waved my hand at him, dismissing him. “You’re just like all the other mages.”
“Do you know why magicians act the way they do?”
“To lord it over everyone else.”
“No, you’re thinking of power-hungry types such as yourself.”
“I’m not power-hungry.”
“You need the power to create the spells. Of course you’re power-hungry.”
I didn’t say anything.
He sat back in his chair. “Enough about you, Mike. Let me tell you about the spirits. There are spirits of the wood, Bear, Deer, Rabbit, Falcon. We must respect them all, and give to them all. All spirits are equal, but all have different reasons for being. What do you think Rabbit does?”
“Runs and hides,” I snorted.
“But why? And not only that.” He turned to a side table. “Why don’t you get some sleep. You’re going to wake up early tomorrow, and I’m going to introduce you to the spirits at dawn.”
Dawn. Not any worse than Prime. I got up from the floor and tried to adjust to the lack of light. “Bring a candle with you,” he said. “And don’t trip on the ladder.”
I found a candle to the side, and lifted it wondering how I was going to light it. “Light it from the fire. Use one of those sticks,” he pointed to what looked like incense sticks to me. I used one – it was just a quickly lighting stick – to light the wick of the candle.
After I did, I turned to look at Turtle, who was starting to pack a pipe. I smile to myself – the stuff he was packing it with didn’t smell like tobacco to me.
I found my way to the base of the ladder and climbed up it. In the loft was a bed, and I set the candle on the nightstand. I undressed in the semi-darkness.
I blew out the candle, and I could still see downstairs reflected in the firelight, and smell the herb come up to my area of the house. I turned over in the featherbed, feeling sunken in and comfortable, and slipped off to dreamland.