Neverland's Library by Mark Lawrence

Author:Mark Lawrence [Various]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy, sword and sorcery, rediscovery, mark lawrence, miles cameron. marie brennan, tad williams
Publisher: Ragnarok Publications
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The Last Magician

William Meikle

“THERE AIN’T NO MAGIC any more, boy,” the old man said. “It went away to the west with the trains and the wagons and what was left of our dignity.”

Tom kicked at the dirt at his feet in frustration.

“But the stories said…”

“Them’s just stories, lad. That’s all them is.”

The old man looked so sad that Tom couldn’t bring himself to say any more. He’d come in search of the old man for two reasons, the first of which was to find out where to find the magic he’d read so much about in his books. Now that hope had been quashed, he kept the second reason to himself.

It would be his secret, just between him and his newest friends.

He’d found them by accident, in the creek that bounded the north edge of the farm. When they first spoke to him, he thought he might be going daft.

“Soft in the head,” his Pa said, and that didn’t sound like a good idea at all to Tom, having your skull all squishy and the like. So that first time, he’d just stuck his fingers in his ears and ran, fast as spit, back to the kitchen.

But the voices were insistent. He woke in the night to hear them, singing and dancing out there at the big pond. He got up, crept to the window, and watched the lights, blue and silver and emerald green, spinning and dancing and having a high old time.

He didn’t go out. Not that time. His Pa told him it was just a dream, a bad dream, and although it hadn’t seemed bad at all, Tom knew better than to argue with his Pa during harvest season.

It was three days before he went out to the pond.

They were there, waiting.

#

“Tell us a story, Tom,” the blue one said. “An old story.”

“We love old stories,” the green one replied.

The silver one merely danced a bit faster.

Tom sat with them for the longest time, telling them of bears that talk, grandmothers with big eyes and wizened little men that spun gold.

They liked that one a lot.

At the end of the day they thanked him profusely.

“We have given you a gift,” they said in unison, their voices mingling in a most pleasant chorus. “Something to remember this day by.” They vanished with a pop that made Tom’s ears hurt.

He looked everywhere for his gift, but there was nothing to be found, even after a thorough search of all his pockets. He went home feeling slightly sad that his new friends had deceived him.

Ma was in the scullery, frying ham on the big skillet. She turned when he came through the door and her hand hit the skillet handle. The heavy pan tipped over. Tom saw it all happen in his mind; the hot fat was going to spray everywhere and scorch his Ma’s arm.

He did it without thinking. He reached out and although he was on the opposite side of the room, he felt the weight of the

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