Path of the Magi (Tales of Tiberius) (4 page)

Later that night at dinner, Julian Fuller said grace before the table and the Fuller family sat down to another quiet evening meal.  While passing a biscuits, Tiberius made what he thought was a casual comment. 

“I didn’t know you knew Mr. Dallen that well, Father.”

A dark look came over Julian’s face.  For a moment he stopped cutting the ham and looked sharply at the young Master Fuller. 

“Don’t you go getting mixed up with that old man,” he said snapped.  “That man is dangerous.”

There was sudden silence at the table.  Tiberius sat back, slightly stunned at the vehemence of his father’s reply.  “I’m sorry, Father.  I didn’t plan on speaking with him.  I just thought he was a friend of yours.”

His father grunted and went back to carving the ham.  “There’s friends and there are friends, if you take my meaning, lad.”

“Didn’t he fight beside you in the war, Dad?” Marcus asked fearlessly.  “I thought he was one of ours.”

“He fought with us,” the senior Fuller replied.  “Truth is he did more than me in the war.  I just killed one of those foul witches.  Dallen and Galloway, they got the other two.  Those magi are not evil.  It’s his methods I don’t approve of.  They mean well and all, but there are forces that man is just not meant to command.  Magic is dangerous stuff, no matter how you use it.”

“I didn’t realize that we used magicians in the war,” Tiberius observed.  “Did we really need them?  Seems to me that a few good clerics would serve to keep our troops free of the effects of witchcraft.”

“Right you are, my boy,” Julian observed.  “Trouble was, good clerics were hard to find.  Oh, we had a few, but not the sort that went to the front lines and held forth the power of God against the evil of witchcraft.  Those magi are sort of self proclaimed prophets, in a way.   Kind of an instant Saint Elijah.  Playing with fire I call it.  Still, with good clerics in short supply, I don’t know what choice we had.  Those witches were a foul lot, boy.  Worse than you’ve heard.  Folks like to keep the dirt out of books, lads.  I should know.  I was there, and I’ve seen what we publish, too.   No, war’s a dirty business.  Some folks that help with it are dirty folks, not fit company for respectable folk.  Still, they meant well and I won’t say they didn’t help.  But you steer clear of them all the same.”

“Yes, sir.”

For a few moments the Fuller family concentrated on the serious business of eating.  The ham, apple glaze, sweet potatoes, and green beans were all passed around the table.  Tiberius’ mother was a good cook when she had a mind to it.  As the meal wore on, though, Tiberius decided to risk another question.

“Are they going to burn those witches we caught, Dad?”

Julian Fuller responded with a grunt.  “Serve them right if they did.  But I doubt it.  Dallen says they just got as far as summoning a spirit guide.  No real evidence of them cursing anyone.  Like as not most of them will be let off with a few days in the pillory.  Leader will probably do a few years in jail.”

“Peter Jones says they ought to let them off,” Marcus interjected.  “People want to be pagans let’em.  It’s their soul going to Hell.”

“Peter Jones doesn’t know what he’s talking about.  That lot we caught was calling a demon into the world.  Having some luck with it too.  That’s not just a foolish belief; it’s a dangerous action.  We can’t allow that!  Those demons aren’t satisfied.  You start down that road, it’s not just your soul going down to damnation.  It’s Hell unleashed on the rest of us too.”

The evening settled down after that. Marcus and Tiberius sat down for a game of chess as their father did some paperwork concerning the recent action by the militia. 

Marcus frowned as Tiberius moved a knight to take another of Marcus’ pawns. 

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into playing,”  Marcus frowned. 

“We publish books on chess; you should read some of them,” Tiberius chided.  “You’re off to the Army soon, you should brush up on your chess.  It’s a military game.  I just wish it was a bit more realistic.” 

Tiberius had failed to note the approach of his father to the board. 

“Oh it’s realism you want is it?  Here, I’ll fix that for you.”

Julian picked up a piece of chalk and made an X in a couple of squares.  Then he made an extra row of squares on the white’s queenside.  Finally he picked up a couple of the captured pieces and swapped them.

“That’s no fair! I took that bishop fair and square!”  Tiberius protested.

“You want realism, lad, there you go.  War isn’t fair.  That’s real war for you.  The spots you thought were open are impassable; the place you thought was impassable is open.  Your knight turns out to be a pawn, or worse a traitor, and just when you thought it was all in that pawn turns out to be a queen after all.  You want to win, then you deal with the situation as best you can.”   

Later on it was off to bed.  Tiberius had a little trouble sleeping.  Something that elf said was bothering him.  Dad always told him the elves didn’t like to lie.  They’d bury a truth in a half truth if they could.  So what had he meant by ‘first’ battle against evil?  It was a long time before he put the thought out of his mind and sleep found him.

Chapter II

A New Teacher

As quick as a week later, talk of the arrest of the witches started to die down and conversations turned to other matters.  Farming prospects, the jousting champions, and other more important topics became the news of the day.  There was still trouble in the border country, but at his father's urging, the army had moved in to reinforce the nearby Fort Marion.  The new patrols effectively ended any threat of the goblins raiding the city.  Julian complained that more troops were needed to secure the direct road out to Vonair, but the senate didn't want to spend the money. 

Tiberius put thoughts of witches behind him as it was early July and Michael Okubo was hosting something he called a “Fourth of July” barbecue.  For the most part, the Okubo’s lived like any other family in Sherwood City.  They dressed and ate just like everyone else in town.  But once a year, Michael honored the country of his birth with this curious festival.  Tiberius knew that the Fourth of July was some sort of Old World holiday, but he never really understood what it meant.  It was important to Mr. Okubo, though. 

Michael had so far been unsuccessful in introducing the Old World variation of rounders (something called baseball) to the Stewardship, but his barbecue was reasonably popular.  No one in the Stewardship objected to free food, even if it was slightly exotic.  Michael’s wife, Min Okubo, was a good cook and lent her skill to her husband’s once a year eccentricity.  Michael had set up a charcoal grill in his back yard and decorated the place with red, white, and blue paper streamers. 

Marcus walked up to Michael and made a valiant effort to get the story straight, as Tiberius listened. 

“Now, you have this party because you were born in America?  But I thought you were from Japan,” Marcus asked.

“My family is originally from Japan, but they moved from Japan to the United States back in the late 1800’s, Old World time.  That’s roughly S.R. 200.”

“Right.  In school they said that the Old World not only lies across some other dimension, or something, but the road from here to there messes up the time somehow.  That’s why we have our own calendar.  Four years of Old World time is roughly equal to three years in the Stewards Reckoning, but nobody can say for sure because the time keeps changing.  What year was it when you came here?  Old World time I mean?”

“1945, back during the great war,” Michael explained. 

Marcus thought about the math for a moment.  “1945 is what year, our time?”

“S.R. 260,” Tiberius chimed in.  He was always better at math. 

“So you came here about S.R. 260 then?  You don’t look that old,”  Marcus observed.   

“Tiberius is correct,” Michael explained.  “1945 A.D. is about equal to S.R. 260.  But  I was one of those who jumped time coming here. I arrived in S.R. 285.  I assure you, I wasn’t floating in the ocean for 25 years.  It was only about three days before the dolphins brought me to these shores.”

“Weird.  So you were fighting with the Americans against the Japanese?”  Marcus asked.

“No, I fought against the Germans,” Michael explained.

“But I thought America was at war with Japan?”  Marcus said, puzzled.

“They were; I saw the sneak attack against Pearl Harbor,” Michael said.

“But why were you fighting the Germans then?”  Marcus asked. 

“The American government didn’t trust us to fight the Japanese, since we were of Japanese ancestry.  They were also at war with the Germans, so they sent us to fight against them.”  He refrained from mentioning that his actual fighting had been done in Italy.

“So how did your family get from America to the United States?”  Marcus asked.

“It’s the United States of America.  It’s the same country,”  Michael said, laughing.

“Oh.  And what’s the Fourth of July again?”  Marcus asked.  

“It commemorates the day the American Colonies declared their independence from Great Britain, back in 1776.”

“That’s about S.R. 130,”  Tiberius said.

Marcus gave Tiberius a glare for showing off, then continued with his own question.  “The American Colonies are the place my ancestors were TRYING to get to, only they took a wrong turn though the Bermuda Triangle and wound up here, right?”

“That’s correct,” Michael said. 

“So those are the people who wrote the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence and the Magna Carta?”

“Not the Magna Carter, but the first two, yes,” Mr. Okubo explained.  “They also have you study the Mayflower Compact sometimes in school, I believe.  That was an important American document.” 

“Our civics class on modern democracy mentioned it, yes,” Marcus admitted.  He thought for a moment, taking another bite of his cheeseburger.  “We should do that.  Declare independence I mean.  It’s a bit silly saying the country is still run on behalf of Queen Elizabeth.  They are on Queen Elizabeth the Second back in the Old World, aren’t they?  We’re still talking about Queen Elizabeth the First.  She’d be close to five hundred years old now.  I guess that’s possible if you’re an elf, but Queen Elizabeth wasn’t an elf, was she?”

“Not that I’d heard,” Michael Okubo said, reaching for the sauerkraut.  “She’d been dead for centuries so far as I know.  But our government does not recognize wild rumors of her demise from mere wash-ups like me.”

“So what’s the significance of the ground beef patties and sausages?”  Marcus asked.

“It’s a traditional way to celebrate the Fourth of July.  They’re called hamburgers.  I couldn’t get hot dogs, so I used sausages.  Actually, sausages are better than hot dogs, but it’s not so traditional,”  Michael explained.

“Didn’t they fling hot dogs at the British during the war or something?”  Marcus asked. 

“No, you’re thinking of the Boston Tea Party.  They threw tea into Boston Harbor rather than pay the illegal British tax upon the tea,”  Michael explained.

“Is that why we’re drinking iced tea?”  Marcus said. 

“Not really.  I just couldn’t get any sodas,”  Michael said.      

Tiberius turned to Mrs. Okubo, who was busy playing with her baby, Maci.  “I guess this all makes sense to you,” he said. 

She laughed.  “Not a bit.  I’m second generation, and my parents came straight from Korea.  I know less about America than you do.  Anyway, my motto is, ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do.’  I don’t cling to the past.”     

“A knight should love the country where he was born, Aunt Min.  It’s part of the Code of Chivalry, Article IV,” Tiberius said. 

The celebration was doubly important because Marcus was set to go off and join the Army in a few days.  He would do two years of national service, and then join his father as a partner in the family print shop.  By the end of the day, Marcus had goaded Tiberius into one last bout of quarterstaves before he left.  It was a game that Tiberius had been enjoying less and less.  He hated losing, and he could never beat Marcus at this game.  He couldn’t play the coward, though, so he grabbed his staff, and the two of them went down to the log bridge over the stream.  Marybeth, Marcus’ girl, and a half dozen or so of the other kids from town were surrounding them by the time they started. 

Tiberius gave a good account of himself.  He was getting older and stronger, and he was faster than Marcus.  The battle was furious and energetic, but he wasn’t fast enough.  Marcus parried his staff out the way and swept his legs off of the log, sending him plunging into the creek.  The water actually felt good in the heat of the day, but Tiberius was still annoyed.  One day he was going to beat his brother at quarterstaves, if it was the last thing he ever did. 

Thus it was that early the next Saturday, Tiberius rode into the forest. 

Michael Okubo was also out that day walking among the woods, looking for quality wood for his shafts.  Mostly he was there to think, for he had been though troubles of his own of late.  But as he walked along thinking, he saw his young friend,  Master Tiberius, in the forest, swinging a large clumsy tree branch around.  He watched for a moment, wondering what the lad thought he was doing.  Then, at last overcome by curiosity, he stepped forward and greeted him. 

“Well met, young Master Tiberius.  What are you doing out on this fine morning?” Michael asked. 

Tiberius did not seem overjoyed to see him, but he answered politely, trying to hold the enormous branch inconspicuously at his side.

“Oh, Mr. Okubo.  I … well, I was just trying to get in a little quarterstaff practice this morning.”

It was all Michael Okubo could do to stop from laughing.  “But what are you doing with that?”  he said, pointing at the tree limb.

“Oh.  That.  Well, I thought I would try something different.  I’m tired of losing to my brother.  I’m old enough to beat him at staves.  I must be doing something wrong.”

“Ah.  So you want to learn how to use a quarterstaff, do you?  So you can beat your brother?”  Michael said smiling.  “He’s older than you.  Naturally, he’s a tough opponent.”

“That’s not the only reason,” Tiberius explained.  “Marcus isn’t that great.  If I can’t beat him, how am I going to beat a goblin or northern raider?  A quarterstaff is supposed to be a good weapon, isn’t it?  I’ve got to be doing something wrong.”

“It’s an excellent weapon,” Mr. Okubo said.  “The more so because people underestimate it.  An expert with a staff could hold off a small army.  Have you heard of Musashi?  He was the greatest swordsman in the history of Japan.  The only person ever to match him in a duel used a jo staff.  If you wish to slay goblins …”  Mr. Okubo was strangely silent for a moment as he studied Tiberius carefully.  “Yes.  An excellent choice.  I’m surprised your father hasn’t given you lessons with the axe or sword.”

“He says he’s training us to be officers and gentlemen, not common soldiers.  He won’t let us have swords.”

“As an officer you will make better use of a staff.  Most officers in the regular military carry a short pike.  They use it as often to make sure the troops are in proper lines as to fight, but it can also be a deadly weapon.  Quarterstaff moves are similar and would serve you well.  Instruction in any weapon is beneficial.  You plan to follow your brother into the military?” 

Tiberius nodded in agreement.  “Marcus really loves the print shop.  He just wants to do a bit of service and then set up shop with Dad.  I want to travel though.  I’d like to try and get into the military academy and become a career officer.”

“I see,” he said.  “A career officer should know how to fight and fight well.  I have some slight skill in the quarterstaff, and now that you are in my command I think it would be wise for me to give you some lessons.”

“Really?  Gee, Mister Okubo, that would be really great.”

“Do you think so?  I won’t be an easy master.  I take pride in my craft and I will expect no less from you,”  Michael said. 

“Yes, sir.  Dad always told us to finish what we start.”

“Come.  I will talk to your father.  We must put the proper time into this.  And put that thing down,” he laughed, pointing to the huge branch Tiberius was holding.  “You need speed from a staff, not power.  The first thing I must teach you is how to breathe.”

“How to breathe?  Don’t I do that already?” Tiberius wondered. 

“Address me as Sensei.  You must learn to breathe as a proper warrior.  Proper breathing controls the body.  It controls fear itself.  Let me show you…”

Michael and Tiberius presented the plan to Julian.  Ti’s father clearly thought training in personal combat was highly overrated for an officer and a gentleman, but he couldn’t deny that it had value, if only as a way for his slightly bookish son to get more exercise.  As he had placed him under Michael’s command, he had no objection, providing that Tiberius didn’t let up on his studies.