Jacob could hardly contain himself as he followed his family toward the spring festival where, he hoped, he would finally see a magician.
Until this year it seemed that there was always some reason for missing the magician. Sometimes the magicians did not come to the festival. In other years they came without warning, passing through the town so swiftly that, by the time Jacob learned of them, they had already departed. Three times they had arrived after the family had left the winter festival and once the entire family had been so sick that they had missed the festival entirely.
But maybe this year would be different. Maybe this year he would finally be lucky.
Jacob wondered if even a magician would be able to find his way through the town's dimly lighted streets. This older section of the town was a confusion of close-packed buildings and immense ancient devices, most of unknown purpose.
Perhaps the magician had no need to traverse the narrow streets. Perhaps he would descend from the sky on lightning bolts, amid claps of thunder. Maybe he would suddenly appear in a flash of light or through some more mysterious, magical method. But no, these were childish fantasies. The magician, if he arrived, would probably walk the streets like any other man.
The villagers had decorated the square with orange, red, and blue lanterns for the winter festival. The colored lights threw a pattern of complementary shadows in every direction. Jacob toyed with his own shadow for a few moments, observing the way the shadow's colors changed as he shifted position. Why, he wondered, were some of the shadows green instead of black? After a few moment's consideration he realized that each shadow's color was the complement of whichever lamp threw it. Not only that but it varied in intensity with the distance from each lamp. He moved back and forth, fascinated by the changing colors.
Evangeline, his older sister, rudely pulled him back into reality and an awareness of the crowd. She glanced around to see if anyone had been watching his antics. "Why are you doing that? Dancing around like a fool," she scolded. "Act your age for once, would you?"
He started to explain but stopped. Ev was smiling over his shoulder, no longer paying him a bit of attention. When he turned he saw that Lars Torfsen had captured her attention. Just as well, Jacob thought; Ev would never understand about the lights and, even if she did, she'd probably dismiss it as of no practical use.
He watched her walk toward Lars with that peculiar swaying motion she had adopted of late. "Huh, and she thinks I looked silly," he muttered.
The crowd's din assailed Jacob's ears. Everyone was in a festive mood. The group at the kegs were cheerily toasting one another and each passerby with raised mugs and shouts of recognition. The more sober among them were scarcely less restrained than those well into their mugs.
People pressed in on Jacob from every side, so close that he could smell their sweat and foul, malty breath. He couldn't understand how anyone could enjoy being so jammed together in this suffocating, constricting, and uncomfortable crowd. But he would endure it for the chance to see a magician.
His family's arrival caused no little commotion. People crowded around them, shouting and extending hands to be shaken and presenting cheeks to be kissed. A bustle of women greeted his mother and Pam with shrieks and embraces, then led the two away, all jabbering at once and so swiftly that Jacob couldn't understand a word they said. Nor did he want to.
Jacob winced whenever one of the villagers pinched his cheek or remarked about how tall and handsome he had gotten. He bridled at their constant observations on his red hair and striking lack of resemblance to his father. He held his tongue, wishing the whole while that he could escape. But no, for the possibility of watching a magician at work he would bear all this unwanted attention, all this squeezing, embracing, squealing, shouting, laughing, farting, sweating, overeating crowd of packed humanity.
Jacob looked around, alert for any sign of a stranger, for a glimpse of the bearded face that his father said always marked a magician. But how could he tell if a stranger were a magician? Most travelers, and many of the local farmers, wore beards, so that was no distinction. Would the magician be taller--larger than life? Would he be handsome or ugly, young or old? Would his hair be silver or gold? How would his appearance differ from the too-familiar faces of these people he'd known all his life? What would his clothing be like? How would he speak, walk, or laugh?
Jacob's imagination ran rampant, building a mental pastiche that changed with every random supposition. Perhaps the mage would come as a giant and loom over the town like a storm cloud; lightning bolts for his hair and thunder for his voice. That startling image came from a childish fantasy that he had long ago thought he'd outgrown.
While the carpenter was droning endlessly about how his son was about to become the mason's apprentice and asking how soon Jacob was to be apprenticed to the town's tinker, there was a commotion on the far side of the square. The crowd parted. Three strangers walked to the middle of the square. From the way everyone kept their distance Jacob knew that this had to be the magician. But why were there three? He supposed that a magician always traveled alone.
The three were like nothing he'd imagined. None were giants, nor was their appearance out of the ordinary, or so it appeared at his first appraising glance.
The tallest threw back the cowl of his frayed and tattered, travel-stained cloak to reveal a face the color of dark leather and in sharp contrast to his white beard and hair. Small white marks, as if he'd been burned with a brand, marched across both cheeks. There were deep creases around his eyes and mouth, as if he'd spent a lifetime of peering into the distance. His hands were as dark as his face, and as callused as a farmer's. His erect posture and quick movements were at odds with the signs of age. There was such an air of authority, of competence about him that Jacob knew that this was not a man easily ignored.
The shorter, stockier magician on white beard's right wore a dull brown cloak that was only slightly less travel-worn. His beard was black as night and trimmed closely to follow the curve of his jaw. His eyes were hidden behind the mirrored goggles that reflected the square's colored lanterns in miniature. His head swiveled from side to side, watching the crowd. Only one of his hands was visible, for he kept the other tucked deep inside his cloak.
In sharp contrast to massive bulk of the dark man, the third magician was slight of frame and had a long cascade of bronze hair that spilled from the back of a red cap. It was a woman, Jacob realized with a start. Somehow he had never imagined that a magician might be a woman! As she turned her head to glance in his direction he noticed that her eyes were very large and a wondrously luminous green. Even from this distance he could tell that those bright eyes were sprinkled with tiny golden flecks, much like his own. A slight smile played on her lips. Her movements were fluid and graceful, as if she were dancing to some languid, silent fiddler. She was the most beautiful woman Jacob had ever seen.
)
