The old man was a sorcerer, or at least that's what the other kids said. The adults in town claimed that he was just an eccentric man who preferred the company of dusty books over people. Leon didn't know who to believe.
He'd only ever seen the old man by himself, so it was quite a surprise when a pretty young woman arrived after the old man's passing claiming to be his granddaughter. Her name was Myra, and she lived in a town on the eastern end of the kingdom.
Leon was smitten by Myra's beauty, even though he was barely old enough to appreciate girls. When she asked him to accompany her to clean out her grandfather's hour, Leon hastily agreed.
When they arrived at the house, they found it full of dust and dirt. There was only one table and chair that Leon saw, but lining three of the walls were shelves of books. Leon had never seen so many books in one place. Even his school didn't possess as many volumes as what adorned the shelves here.
Myra found a broom and a rag. "Do you want to help me sweep or dust?"
Neither appealed to Leon, so he chose the lesser of two evils. "I'll sweep, if that's all right with you."
She handed him the broom. Then Myra began wiping the surfaces by the front door. Leon didn't want to get in her way and didn't want to be near the cloud of dust she stirred up, so he began his task on the opposite side of the room.
After a few minutes, he leaned the broom against a shelf and rested. He noticed the title of the book nearest to him. "Alchemical Processes," he read aloud. "What does alchemical mean?"
Without pausing in her work, Myra answered, "It's related to the transformation of matter, particularly from base metals to gold."
Leon's eyes widened. "Was your grandfather a sorcerer?"
"A sorcerer? Wherever did you get that idea?"
"My friends from school said so." Leon turned away, embarrassed by his answer. "But my parents say he's just a lonely man who liked to read."
Myra chuckled. "That he did. Grandpa has one of the largest collections of books in the kingdom. I hope to bring them back home or donate them to deserving libraries."
Leon nodded. He went back to sweeping the house. After an hour, most of the dust and dirt had been cleared away. The house looked livable, like Leon's own.
He was thirsty and wondered if it was impolite to ask for water. Fortunately, Myra had the same idea. She went into the adjoining room and returned with a pitcher of water and two cups. Leon readily accepted the cup she offered. The water tasted chalky, but it quenched his thirst.
"Are you hungry?" She asked.
"A little."
"I saw some cured meats and pickled vegetables. I'm afraid everything else has spoiled."
Leon wasn't a fan of vegetables, pickled or otherwise, but cured meats sounded good.
Myra came back with a plate. Sitting atop it was a block of brown meat and a sharp knife.
Leon pointed at the meat. "What is it?"
"I assure you it's perfectly safe to eat."
"I don't want to be eating lizard or frog meat."
"Don't worry, this is pork. Besides, did you know that frogs taste like chicken?"
Leon squinted at her like she was making fun of him. However, when she set the plate down, he picked up the knife to carve a piece for himself. The meat was tough, and Leon had a difficulty slicing through it. He saw Myra lean forward to help, but he didn't want her to think that he was too weak to cut his own food.
The knife slipped out of his hand and struck the plate with a clatter. But not before it cut through a finger on his other hand. Blood spilled onto the plate and the pork. Leon brought his hand to his mouth, sucking on the wound.
"Here, let me see that," Myra said.
Leon shook his head.
"Don't be stubborn. That cut needs attention. You don't want to bleed to death, do you?"
Again, he shook his head, but now he held out his hand for her to examine. There was a long, deep cut.
"Oh, dear."
The tone of her voice concerned him. "Am I going to lose my finger?"
"Not if I can help it."
"Are you a doctor?"
"Not quite." Myra smiled, and it settled Leon's nerves somewhat. "I need you to close your eyes." Leon obeyed. "This may sting a little, but I want you to keep your eyes closed. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
With his eyes shut, he felt her take his wounded hand. He heard her say words that he didn't understand. A tingle passed over his hand. Leon wanted to see what was happening, but his eyes remained sealed.
"You can open your eyes now," Myra said.
He did. His hand was still caked in blood, but the pain had faded, and he didn't see more blood flowing out. On closer inspection, he couldn't see the cut at all. It had disappeared.
"How did you do that?" He asked.
"This has to be our secret, Leon. Promise me you won't tell."
"I promise. Did you cure me with ... magic? Are you a sorcerer?"
"Yes, and so was my grandpa."
"But you said he wasn't a sorcerer."
"Did I? I believe I only agreed with you that he loved books."
Leon couldn't believe it. The old man was a sorcerer after all, and so was his granddaughter. He was excited to have met a real practitioner of sorcery but sad that he had sworn to keep his knowledge a secret.
"You must not say a word to anyone, Leon, not even your parents."
"I promise. But can you show me another bit of sorcery?"
A smile crossed Myra's face. "What would you like to see?"
