Michael G. Manning - Wizard in Exile

Chapter 1

Youre a Turdian, declared Len Strayth. I bet you eat turds for breakfast and dinner!

The other boys laughed, then Galli Maremin added, I bet thats why he smells so bad.

Alver was an inch taller than the ones making jokes, but he ignored them and kept walking, determined they wouldnt ruin his first day at the new school. Then someones hand ran down his back.

That might improve the stink, announced the third boy, Trig Blenner. He tossed a piece of fresh horse dung to the ground.

The smell confirmed what Alver already knew. A streak of fresh shit had been smeared across his back. The coat he wore was new, as was his shirt. Both had been made by his Nana in preparation for his first day at school. Alvers father had impressed on him the importance of caring for the clothes, but it hadnt been necessary. Alver loved his Nana more than anyone in the world. Turning, he glared at Trig, noting the shit stains on the other boys fingers. If anyone likes turds, its you, playing with your own shit.

Trig leaned in immediately. Say that to my Trigs head snapped back as Alvers right fist caught him under the chin and he fell backward, landing hard on his tailbone. Len came to his defense, attempting to push Alver off balance, but he encountered a wide left hook that sent him sprawling.

Galli was unable to react and merely stared at Alver in shock. Two of his friends were down, and only Trig seemed likely to get back up any time soon. Meanwhile, Alvers angry eyes were focused purely on him. He ran.

Alver was breathing hard, but his anger wasnt gone. When Trig started to rise, he kicked the boy in the stomach. Then he leaned over and grabbed the unconscious Len by one leg and dragged him over to the dung pile, and then through it. He stopped only when Lens head came to rest on the slick fecal remains that hadnt already coated his backside and clothes.

Looking down on the helpless boy, Alvers anger faded, and he tried to figure out what to do. He couldnt go to school now, not with horse shit on his coat. A man from across the street yelled at him from a doorway, Hey boy! What did you do?

Alver ran, ignoring the shouts behind him, and he kept running until he was home, though he was scared to go inside. Nana would be upset if she saw the filth on his clothes.

There was a bucket full of water by the back door. Alver knew this because it was one of his chores to refill it when Nana asked. Sneaking around the side of the house, he went to it and took off his jacket and shirt. Then he found the washtub, which she kept hanging on a nail by the back porch, and put his clothes inside.

He added some water and tried to scrub the stains out, but without soap, it seemed he was only making the problem worse.

What are you doing, Olly?

It was Nanas voice and he turned in horror to see her standing behind him. With the filthy clothes still in his hands, he looked up at her and tried to answer, but tears filled his eyes and his voice refused to work. Sitting down in the dirt, he hid his face in his arms.

She laughed. Olly, you silly thing. Next time, just tell me! Dumping the filthy water from the washtub she took the clothes from his hands and returned them to the tub. Youve never washed clothes before. What possessed you, child? Look here, watch what Im doing.

Peeking his head up from his arms, Alver watched her add fresh water before going to get a half-used cake of soap from a box on the porch. Rub just a little on, like this. Use too much and your clothes wont last. This is the scrub board, see?

For the next twenty minutes, she patiently showed him how to use the washtub and scrub board to clean clothes. She finished by rinsing the clothes and putting them through a wringer to squeeze out the excess water. After hanging them up, she put her hands on her hips. I appreciate that you want to help, but youre only eight, Olly. This is a good age, but ask me next time.

Alver nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak.

Go refill the water bucket, then you can help me with the apples. I wanted to surprise your father when he gets home.

Apples?

For cider mash, she clarified. Dont get your hopes up. I doubt there will be any good enough for pie.

He followed his Nana around for the rest of the morning, helping her load the cider press and fill clay jars that she had already cleaned in preparation. When noon arrived, he followed her into the house and watched as she peeled and cut a few choice specimens that shed saved. Her eyes twinkled when she glanced at him. I wonder what I should do with these? Theyre too good for mashing. Grab that bowl for me.

Alver sliced the peeled apples up while his Nana made a quick pastry dough. Her question came then, when it was clear he had fully relaxed. What happened this morning?

I got in a fight.

Why?

Some of the boys said I stink, then Trig wiped shit on

Language!

Alver bobbed his head apologetically. Trig grabbed a horse apple and smeared it on me.

And then what happened?

He shrugged. I got mad and said something, then Len came toward me, and I punched him. Trig shoved me and I laid him out.

Nana frowned. How many boys were there?

Galli was there too, but he ran when he saw what I did.

She nodded, rolling out the dough with a wooden dowel. How do you feel about what happened?

Alver couldnt help but notice his apple slices were far thicker than the ones his nana usually produced when making a pie, so he tried cutting them into smaller pieces, which only resulted in small, thick pieces. He didnt know how to answer the question, so he simply said, Angry. In reality, he felt something else, but he didnt know how to express it.

You and Galli have been friends since we moved here, observed his grandmother.

He said I smell, Alver told her. Hes been a jerk ever since Len showed up.

Do you think you smell?

I did after Trig rubbed shdung on me, he answered, barely catching himself in time. When his grandmother didnt say anything, he asked, What was I supposed to do?

No idea. Im glad you were able to defend yourself, but it sounds like you went too far. You still have to go to school tomorrow. Your father wont change his mind on that.

Is he going to be mad?

His grandmother paused, and Alver saw a number of mysterious thoughts flicker across her features. Her visage finally settled on a faint smirk that vanished seconds later, then she replied in a serious tone, Probably.

The afternoon passed slowly, and Alver wondered if he would be allowed a piece of pie when it was ready. His grandmother was kind, but she could be stern at times. If she felt hed done wrong, it was entirely possible shed made the pie just to teach him a lesson at the end. The thought made him sad, but his biggest worry was what would happen when his dad got home.