Of Men Made Gods Read online

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  TWILIGHT WAS HOLDING reign by the time the magician finally left the castle in the middle of the city. Winter was near enough to make the air have a little bite to it, and the city was having the final fair of the year. With this in mind, everybody that can was outside enjoying the night as the vendors behind their stalls and entertainers on their stages made the best business of their year. Now an old man wearing forgettable grey clothes, he stood among the crowds; watching as the prince's men tried to follow his apparition riding his horse out of the city. The men would return like always with the news that the ‘wizard’ had disappeared, along with his horse, on the road just a few hours ride outside the city.

  With none shadowing his tracks now, the old man began to head for the gates of the city that would be closing soon. But after only taking a few steps, he stopped; turning his bald head as if searching for a sound he had barely missed. Amid turning his head again, he paused; freezing as he realized what he was doing. He had only had this feeling once in all his long life, and even then it was a different thing. He shook his head, making a decision as he started to move with the crowd; following the senses that had never failed him before.

  It took him some time, but he finally found the right place by the time torches were being lit on the street corners. The place was the part of the fair where most children were found. Moving his hands to reach the satchel made of dirty brown cloth, he found a good enough corner as he pulled out seven different colored balls. The first child came forward as he began the first of his tricks, throwing the balls in different speeds and catching them deftly as they fell. Soon there were more of them before him, making the sounds mesmerized children make as they watched the balls grow in numbers, color, size and even shape right in front of their eyes.

  He was just beginning to lose hope when out of the corner of his eye he saw him. Right at the edge of the crowd, he noticed him standing there for the first time and felt himself brimming with hope once again. Now that he knew where to look, he could feel him as clearly as the air he was breathing in. Or, to be more precise, he could sense his absence.

  Once he was sure he had the boy's attention, the old man caught all the balls, bowing to his crowd as he did so. The children started to move along as they saw that the show was finally over, but a handful remained along with the child that always stood at the edge of the crowd.

  Seeming to have been goaded into doing the deed, a small girl stepped up to the old man and said, "What was that?" her face turning an almost complete red color as soon as the words left her lips.

  "Magic," the old man replied, smiling a smile that could be taken either as a secret or a joke depending on the person looking at it.

  "There's no such thing as magic," said an older boy, his awkward frame showing he was already leaving childhood behind. "They were just tricks."

  "Hmm...," the old man replied, sounding as if he was agreeing with the boy. As soon as the sound parted from his lips, the rest of the children started to move on too, the looks of disappointment clearly showing on their little faces.

  When the last of the children left and the boy finally inched forward, the old man stopped pretending to be doing something with his satchel and turned to face him, saying, "And what is it you wish to know, child?"

  "I..," the boy began tentatively, startled to be addressed so suddenly.

  "Yes...?"

  "Is....is it really true?" asked the boy nervously.

  "Is what true?" the old man asked back, trying to look serious as he frowned with his bushy white brows.

  "The thing you just said about magic."

  "Magic is a trick," said the old man, still frowning. He watched as the boy's face fell, making up his decision to work a trick himself as he did so. 'It will even help me track him,' he thought silently, as he looked at the child that had the potential to be something like himself and tried, and failed, to control his hope from ruling his action. With a smile replacing the frown on his face, he took the hand of the boy and put his old skeletal finger in the middle of the small, smooth palm, saying, "And the trick is to believe it's real." As he said the words the magician lifted his old finger from the child's palm revealing a flowing substance, the color of which was a mad mixture of gold, silver, red and white, in-between the old and young surfaces. A flowing material that quickly formed into a circular thing that looked like a large coin.

  And bowing one final time as the child dragged his wide eyes from the object in his hand to look at him for a moment, the magician took a step back and disappeared into the crowd of people in the street; unable to keep himself from silently hoping he would meet the boy in the future when he'll be ready for it too.

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