A Farmer’s Son

Polychronia smiled as George burst through the door trailing dust into the newly cleaned room. Her son was full of energy as always.

“Your father is in the fields George, he wants to see you.”

“I don’t want to be a farmer mother! I want to be a soldier of Rome like he was, I want to be a warrior.” George stood sullenly and defiant. Polychronia turned to look at her boy and saw the dried blood on her sons head. Her demeanor changed instantly and she grabbed George by the head as if it was pot that needed examining. George was pulled roughly into a position that served her best to view the damage and knew that fighting her mother was impossible.

“Its deep, you may have a cracked head. What happened George?”

“Nothing mother. Just some games that got a bit rough.”

Polychronia knew her son well enough to know when he was hiding the truth and also that he would hide it until the sun fell out of the sky. She held him at arms length and regarded him again. She sighed and pullled him close whispering the words of healing that would connect her to the Magia. George stiffened when he heard the words and whispered, “Mother stop! You are not supposed to do that anymore remember?”

“Hush George.” Polychronia closed her eyes and spoke the words. To George, the words were a different language, like a song that seemed to create a warmth all around the room. His mother was gifted and could do things that others could not but it was a great secret known only to them. His father, Gerontius had fallen in love with one of the daughters of the Magia and she in turn with him. The union was not blessed and she was cast out and hid in the world of the sunwalkers, her term for Romans, Syrians, Jews and all the people of the world.

George’s head began to itch terribly and he squirmed in her arms. She held him tightly until she had finished and then slowly released her grip, softening her hands as she softened the song until at last she had released the Magia and her son altogether. George rubbed his head, the wound had gone as he knew it would. She sighed with fatigue and turned George round, pushing him out of the door. “Off to your father now, go and do as you’re bid.”

George stomped out of the house and to the fields and picking up a suitable stick on the way, he swung at the posts and stones, he swung at the trees and at the corn, he swung away battling the armies of the barbarian hordes with his magic blade, defending hearth and home from the invaders. He had the Magia on his side, they had given him this sword.

Copyright Faramond Frie © 2016


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