Court Wizards: Chapter 1
The Fieldhouse, Part 1
A while back, I started writing a post-apocalyptic sports fantasy novel for young adults. I got about halfway through when life got kinda crazy and forced me to pause. Now, to kick my butt to get going again and finish this puppy, I figured I’d post some chapters to pressure myself to wrap the story.
Hope you all enjoy it!
- Apple Jim
Chapter 1: The Fieldhouse
Big bluestem prairie grass whipped by as the pickup truck powered down the country road. The sky went from black to deep purple to blue, save where a sliver of warm orange glow eked out over the long, flat horizon. Elbow pulled his hood up over his head and folded his arms tightly over his chest.
“So early. May we roll up the windows at least?”
Elbow’s father breathed deeply through his nose. He reveled in a long draught of the crisp, fall air.
“The air at daybreak is full of power.”
Elbow groaned. He reached down for the crank to roll up the window. His father’s hand never left the wheel, but the shift in his tone froze Elbow.
“Don’t even think it, son. This air wakes you up. And you need to wake up.”
His father was never quick to anger, if he got there at all. When he talked to anyone, old friend or new acquaintance, his familial ways formed a bond. Quick to laugh and quick with a joke, above all, his father was an even man. Elbow relied on that steadiness. It was the compass that guided him.
But now, his voice sounded —
Elbow unfolded his arms.
“Where are we going?”
“Just get focused,” his father said.
A creature of pregame routine instilled from his father’s training, this was odd. Typically, their journeys took them all across the plains, from town to encampment to village, seeking simple jobs and court battles. The former was usually manual labor to help bulk Elbow up, and the latter were face-offs in which Elbow could build his skill. Some lived in one place and tilled the land, others roamed. Though it’d only been a few years since they lost her, most of Elbow’s memories before life on the road began were of his mother. But they felt dust-covered now, pushed to the back of his consciousness to make space for offensive strikes, counter spells, and other hardwood magic.
But in all their travels, the destinations they migrated between were never hidden from him. Why was his father being so secretive?
Elbow reached down and grabbed the orange sphere from where it rested between his sneakers. His hands traced the edges of the thing, exploring every side of it, working it between his fingers and palms. It was just air, rubber, and leather, but somehow, with his hands on the ball, he felt calmer. A simple thing, but an object of power. A tool, a gift, a source of magic.
The grass glowed yellow as the sun rose, blanketing the fields in light — a sea of wind-blown prairie and a strip of cracked asphalt as far as the eye could see.
A dark shape appeared on the horizon. At first, no larger than an old farmhouse, when they drove closer it grew. Bigger than a silo or barn, but obscured in the shadows of the early morning light. It looked like a dark storm cloud floating just above the fields.
Elbow’s father slowed the truck and turned north onto a dirt road. The sound of tools, food, and luggage shifting in the trailer they dragged everywhere joined the white noise of the morning air whipping by the cracked windows. Their new course led them straight for the darkness. Where were they going?
The road curved and now the sun was behind them, illuminating what lay ahead. Elbow’s eyes popped and he nearly gasped. Rising out of the vast rolling Midwest landscape was a citadel of wood and leaf. Whether this massive grove of oak trees was the work of Mother Nature or cultivated by man, Elbow couldn’t tell, but there was an energy emanating from this arena-sized forest.
Unsure how to feel at this awe-inspiring yet intimidating sight, Elbow looked at his father. There was no fear in his face. At least none he could see. But there was a look in his eyes. Anticipation. Or was it anxiety? His father’s strong, long-fingered hands, usually rock-steady on the wheel, moved back and forth. His fingers drummed.
As they approached the castle grove, a red wagon parked at the base of the wall of wood came into view. Elbow saw a thickly-built man pacing in front the vehicle. A living oak sentry patrolling what looked to be an entrance into the trees.
Elbow recognized the man’s hood and sat bolt upright. Only his seatbelt kept him from rocketing through the roof.
“Father! No! Tell me I’m not here to be wed to a Chieftain’s heir!”
His father inhaled sharply and said nothing.
Elbow’s jaw dropped and hung there for a solid three seconds before his father shattered the silence with a shotgun blast of laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Elbow yelled, the laughter roaring on as his father wiped tears from the corner of his eye. “Answer me, dad!”
“I love you, boy,” his father said after regaining control of himself. “But you’re fifteen. All you, the son of a prairie nomad, have to offer is your potential on the court.”
Elbow’s brow pinched in anger. His forehead got hot.
“Potential?! I am very skilled! Any child of a Chieftain would be so lucky!”
“Or is it that this specific Chieftain’s daughter that would be lucky?” His father raised his eyebrows. He’d clocked the look of recognition on Elbow’s face when he looked beyond the Chieftain’s cowl and saw the man himself.
Now Elbow couldn’t tell if the heat he felt all over his face was anger or embarrassment.
“I’ve seen Shake in dirty diapers.”
“She could say the same of you, boy.”
“FATHER!”
His father placed a firm hand on Elbow’s shoulder.
“I jest, my son. But that temper right there,” he said, the lingering effect of a warm chuckle still resonating in his voice. “That’s exactly why we’re here. Your ability is powerful, but raw. You have the potential to succeed. Or to fail. If you want it to win battles, tournaments, or a spot on a village team and the plot of land that goes with it, your magic needs to be honed, sharpened, distilled.”
As his father spoke, Elbow took a deep breath. Then another. The anger faded. The anxiety didn’t leave, but it lessened. Much as it pained him sometimes, his father was right. When unchecked fury clouded his brain, his game suffered. If that was why they were here, it was necessary. But if that was the goal of this journey, then what was this place? Elbow bent over and tightened his shoelaces.
Gravel and dirt crunched under tires as their caravan pulled up along the chief’s ride.
“Morning, Chief.”
The Chieftain looked up briefly from his pacing.
“Wolfman!” the Chieftain called out. “It’s been an age, old friend!”
Elbow’s ears perked up. As nomads, he and his father only stayed in one place long enough for them to get friendly with the heads of villages for a few reasons. To help with a harvest in exchange for a share of the bounty was one. Playing in prairie basketball competition that would fetch an even greater prize was another. But sometimes, villages hired his father to train their local team, and Elbow would hone his skills at the same time. Most people called him “coach,” some called him nomad, and even less called him by his first name. But the only people who called Gray Wilson by the old alias Wolfman were those old court wizards who played with him or against him back when state championships existed. In the beforetimes, when Elbow’s father won three straight with his team.
Elbow forgot that was how his father knew the Chieftain. He didn’t talk much about those days anymore.
Wolfman approached the Chieftain and interrupted his pacing. The two old heads embraced. Many Chieftains had skill on the court, and for any who didn’t already know looking at his father’s old friend, this confirmed it. It would have been clear to any villager across the length and breadth of the Middlewest that this was a greeting between two men who’d battled on the perimeter and in the paint.
“This beanpole can’t be young Elbow, can he?” the Chieftain asked.
Wolfman waved his son over. Elbow hustled over to greet the Chieftain.
“Elbow, you remember Chieftain Gill,” his father said, smiling. “Though, maybe just at the corner of your memory. It’s been a while.”
The Chieftain was shorter than Elbow’s father, and shorter than Elbow for that matter. He likely played guard in his heyday, but Elbow noticed forearms as thick as tree limbs when they clasped hands. His shoulders were so broad, it would have taken two men to block his path. Not the type of guard any big man would enjoy setting a screen on. He’d undoubtedly bulldozed his fair share of opponents, his power drawn from the earth in a way that few ballhandlers could claim.
“He’s more solid than you were at his age, Wolfman,” Chieftain Gill said, grasping Elbow’s bicep and then shoulder with his left hand. “I hope you’ve been teaching him in the ways of the paint. I’d hate to see him bullied the way I used to push you around.”
“To be sure,” Elbow’s father gave his old opponent and friend a quick wink. “Though he thrives on the wing. Something he inherited from his mother and her kin. They all had a size and magic I wish I could claim.”
The Chieftain gave Elbow’s father a meaningful look. So, he knew about Elbow’s mother. Not many did. Elbow didn’t even know much.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Wolfman,” the Chieftain joked, bringing them back to the present after a beat of dwelling on the past. “You had a little skill way back when.”
“You’d know from short, wouldn’t you?” Elbow’s father joked right back, placing his elbow on the Chieftain’s shoulder and leaning over him slightly.
“Bah! Enough, enough! Not that old joke! But tell me, is your son ready? Feeling antsy, son?”
“No, sir,” Elbow said. “I’m not sure why we’re here.”
A look of confusion passed over the Chieftain’s face, then he looked at Elbow’s father and grinned.
“Ha!” A single shot of laughter flew from the Cheiftain and ricocheted loudly off the oak grove. A small flock of nearby sparrows erupted from the prairie grass they hid in.
“An old training trick of your father’s,” the Chieftain explained. “He always liked to face an opponent blind for the first battle. No preconceptions, just reading the energy, judging the player, learning their game.”
Elbow was sure all his skill would be needed for whatever crucible awaited him, but his head whipped around angrily to his father when he heard this. Unlike his father, Elbow preferred a scouting report. He liked to prepare. It was a source of much grief between the two of them.
His father, hands in the pockets of his plaid barn coat, shrugged. The Chieftain laughed again, and then his tone shifted.
“I’m not sure that’s the move here, Gray.”
“I trust my son. He has the magic. It can get clouded at times, but I trust his head. Sometimes he’s slow to use it, but when does, he can read the game.”
The Chieftain shook his head. Whatever lay ahead, clearly he believed different preparation was a better strategy.
Footsteps crunching dry leaves echoed from the pathway through the oak trees accompanied by the occasional sound of a basketball bouncing on packed earth.
“I opted for preparation,” the Chieftain said, an eyebrow raised. “Let’s see if my method worked.”
A tall — a very tall — girl around Elbow’s age stepped out of the grove. She looked tired. She was covered in sweat. Clearly a player, whatever she’d just gone through, it looked as if she’d had to compete as if her very life was on the line.
“Well, Shake?” her father asked.
A deep sigh. She paused. Her shoulders sagged. Her head sank. The Chieftain’s face turned from a proud smile to deep concern. But then, Shake Johansen lifted mischievous eyes to her father. He’d fallen right into her trap.
“I passed the test, father.”
Tears welled in her father’s eyes as he wagged a finger at her in a mock scold. He reached up and wrapped his arms around her neck.
“That’s my girl.”
It dawned on Elbow that an energy was emanating from Shake. In the steam rising off her neck, he could sense the magic. She’d been in deep concert with the game. It was a unity of mind and body — a connection to the powers of the game — that he’d never seen in a kid his age before. What did she do? How did she do it? Would he ever achieve that? He felt scared, jealous, and confused all at once. It punched him in the gut. Nerves. He wanted to vomit.
And that’s how he knew the biggest game of his life so far was at the end of that dirt path into the oak grove.
“Shake, you remember my old friend, Gray Wilson,” the Chieftain said.
“The Wolfman?!” She ran her hand over her pulled-back hair in surprise. “More from the stories of your battles than from when I was a baby. Good to meet you again, sir. It’s an honor.”
“You’re humoring an old court wizard,” Elbow’s father replied. “And thank you for that. Looks like you’ve grown into a fine player. Well done on your work in there.” He nodded down the path. The tree coverage over it was so thick, Elbow couldn’t see more than twenty paces down it.
“You remember his son, Elbow,” the Chieftain continued. “I think you last saw him at that Harvest Festival when you had that big pimple on your nose.”
“Father!” She exclaimed, embarrassed. Though Elbow barely noticed. He was too focused on the deep flush rising in his own cheeks.
Elbow held out his hand. Shake extended hers.
“What’s waiting for me in there, Shake?”
“Nothing I can tell you would prepare you for it. Good luck.”
More soon! - AJ
I really enjoyed part 1 and can't wait to find out what lies ahead for Elbow