I see the cleric gasp, his brown eyes opening wide. My father notices as well, helping the man sit up. He asks, “What happened? What was that, Father Tucker?”

The priest shakes his head, still trying to get his bearings. Then rubbing it, he says, “Well, fellas, I’ve got good news and bad news. The bad news is that the fall has seemed to knock some memories of mine loose. I’ve seemed to have forgotten my side-splitting joke about a certain elven mistress. Oh, and my recipe for banana bread.”

“And that’s supposed to be the bad news?” my father quips, drawing a glare from the priest as he continues, “And the good?”

The priest smirks. “I believe I’ve solved our little mystery of the explosion at the town hall.”

“Really?” my father and I exclaim in unison.

Father Tucker nods, a smug grin on his face. He turns up his nose, holding up a finger and says two words, “Magical Chaos.”

“Magical chaos?” I ask.

“Magical chaos,” the priest repeats.

“Magical chaos?” I ask.

“Magical ch-”

“Stop saying ‘Magical Chaos’ and just explain what it means already!” my father groans.

The priest looks at him, then smirks. “Well, if you insist, allow me to educate you,” he begins, pompous and patronizing, “As I said before, magic is all around us, waiting to be shaped. Now normally, it’s in a web-like structure, a weave, if you will. But there are locations where this structure becomes distorted, like a blanket that bunches together or threads that become tangled. In these places, the magic is no longer organized, but rather, in a much rawer form, called-”

“Magical chaos,” I finish.

“Exactly,” the cleric replies, pointing a finger to me as he continues, “When I casted Detect Magic, I saw this raw chaos around you, Sammy. And when I tried to touch it, well, you saw what happened. Boom! Splat! Ugh!”

“Thank you for the… sound effects, Father Tucker, but what does this magical chaos have to do with the explosion? How did it turn a Prestidigitation spell into a Fire Bolt one?”

“That’s the thing, Mayor Becker, it didn’t. The spell Sammy casted was indeed Prestidigitation. It was also the spell that caused the explosion-”

“How-?”

“Let me finish, Mayor Becker. It was also the spell that caused the explosion, but not directly. Instead, it was the trigger.” The priest pauses, stroking his long beard. “Hm, think of the explosion as being caressed by a woman after having gone too long without-”

“Ahem!” my father coughs, his eyes darting from the priest to me.

The priest offers an apologetic laugh, then resumes. “As I was saying, think of it as trying to light a match in a room covered in sulfur. The sulfur is the magical chaos; Prestidigitation is the match. You strike the latter and-”

“Explosion. I see,” my father says, “And this chaos, where did it come from, Father Tucker?”

The priest shrugs. “There are many possible causes cited in the literature.”

“Do any of them have relation to whatever it is you saw on Samuel’s back?”

“Oh, that. Yeah, I don’t have the foggiest idea what that was,” the cleric replies with a nonchalant shrug.

“And you were so high and mighty just a second ago,” my father quips.

“Look, I’m willing to bet all the royal scholars of the kingdom couldn’t make heads or tails of what I saw,” the cleric snaps back, “And besides, if anything, you should know more about it than I.”

“What that mean?” I ask, eyes glancing between the cleric and my father.

“It means-” the cleric begins, but he is interrupted.

“Nothing, Samuel. Pay it no heed,” my father says. Then turning to the cleric, he asks, “So then this magical chaos, what do we do about it? How do we prevent it from causing another explosion?”

Father Tucker’s face becomes pensive for a moment. Then he holds up two fingers. “Logically, there are two paths going forward. The first is to never cast magic again. No match. No explosion. But this method is profoundly stupid, and hence I propose the second. Learn to control it. Samuel has boundless magical potential. I have full confidence that given proper training and time, he can learn to-”

“No, absolutely not,” my father says.

“You didn’t let me finish, Mayor Becker. As you well know, the essence of magic is control, to control magic and not let it control you. And the only way to develop one’s control is through the practice of it.”

“I will not allow Samuel to practice magic. It’s too dangerous!”

“You’re still going on about that?! What a fool you are! Has your life up to now taught you nothing?!”

“Gods have mercy! You’re the one who doesn’t understand a damned thing, you old man! You think you see because of your age, but I think it’s made you rather blind!”

“What I see is a coward who, rather than facing his failures, takes his fear out on a boy! His own boy! His flesh and blood! Your son, Thomas! Look at him!” When my father turns away instead, the cleric does something unexpected. He lunges forward, throwing a punch at my father’s face. The latter retaliates, and it’s not long before the two are grappling on the floor, at each others’ necks.

“Stop!” I yell, “Stop fighting! Please. Don’t hurt each other because of me. Please.”

Surprisingly, the two men give pause, turning my way. I take a deep breath, letting out what has been lingering on my mind for a while now. “Daddy,” I begin, “I want to do it. I want to learn magic. To help people. To save people. So no one hurts. And I want to do it for me. I don’t want to be controlled. And I want to control it. And-”

My voice tapers off, unsure if I’ve said too much, or not enough, or if I’ve overstepped my bounds. My eyes drop, my gaze to the floor. Then I hear a hearty laughter burst out, echoing through the church, and I lift my head.

“Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! To hear these words, more than a decade later. Thomas, do they not remind you of a certain child you once knew? Of a young adult who set out into the world full of hope and fighting spirit? Do you know where that person has gone? I think he might be somewhere...” The cleric raises a fist, punching my father lightly in the chest. “Somewhere in there.”

My father turns, his gaze meeting mine, my own reflection in the clearness of his blue eyes. His face stiffens, his jaws set, his brows furrow. But then, it changes. It softens. His eyes open wide, as if really seeing me for the first time. He sighs, looking away.

“What more can I say having heard you both,” he mumbles, “Any more, and my vow of conscience…” My father closes his eyes, lingers still a moment, then suddenly strikes the ground. “Argh! Fuck it all, and let the dice roll where it may!” he yells.

I see the cleric smile. “I think that was a ‘yes’,” he whispers to me. Then turning to my father, he continues, “Now that we’re in agreement on allowing the boy to learn magic, there is still one last matter to attend to. Mayor Becker, I believe you have something you wish to say to Sammy?”

My father looks up at the priest, then to me, then nods. He approaches me, kneeling to eye level and says, “Samuel, I, I’m sorry. Your father has been…”

“An ass?” I suggest, and when I see his raised eyebrow, I add, “Roger taught me.”

My father offers a faint smile. “Yes. I have been an ass, in more ways than one. Samuel, my son, will you forgive me?”

I pat my father on the head with my small hand, stroking his short black hair. “Yes, I forgive Daddy.” As the words leave my mouth, I’m pulled into a tight embrace. It’s warm, and the feeling lingers, even after my father stands back up.

He turns to me, looking serious once more. “Samuel, I’ll allow you to train in magic, but there is one thing you have to promise me, okay? And this condition is not negotiable.”

I nod. “What is it?”

“Your training is to be kept secret. Do not show your magic to anyone. Do not use your magic unsupervised. You must wait until you have proper control first. Are we in agreement?”

I nod again. Then I hear the priest speak up. “Mayor Becker, in that case, it sounds like you’ll need a teacher with discretion. Someone who can keep a secret. Someone you can trust. Someone like-”

“Ah, you’re quite right, Father Tucker.”

“-me,” the priest says, pointing a finger at himself.

My father is not looking, however. Arm around my shoulder, he’s already ushering me out of the church. “Come on, son, let’s go.”

“Eh?! Wait! Mayor Becker, what about Sammy’s teacher! I’d make a great-! Where are you going?! Wait, come back! You’re still mad about before, aren’t you-?!”

The wooden doors shut, letting only the muffled voice of the cleric through. He’s still calling out, and my father just smiles.

Turning to him, I say, “I think Father Tucker would make a great teacher.”

My father pats me on the head. “Don’t worry, son. I have a much more suitable choice in mind.”

“Who?”

“Just a couple of old friends of mine.”