The Weather Man Page 4

confided a great secret in you. In times past, a Weather Man was a valued and respected member of the community. But now, I'm just a crazy old fool, aren't I?"

  Geoff averted his eyes. He didn't mean to offend the man. In fact, he rather liked his company. "I didn't say that. I'll admit I may have thought it, but I saw you do things up there I can't explain." He paused and looked back up at Aimsir. "So what is the Code of the Weather Man?"

  Aimsir stared back for a moment, deciding whether or not to go on. "A Weather Man must never willfully change the weather for any ulterior motive. To do so would mean instant excommunication from the order. We're a secret society you see, very few outsiders even know of our existence. People are content with hearing their weather reports from men like you, never suspecting there's more to it than the random mixing of ‘pressure systems’ and ‘cold fronts.’" He said the last words with obvious distaste.

  "So why have you told me?"

  Aimsir stared at him intently. Geoff thought they were the wisest eyes he’d ever seen. "Why indeed . . . let's just say I knew you'd believe me. Not everyone can. Some people just won't accept the unexplainable."

  Geoff smiled. He was never the kind of rigid scientist that only believed what could be factually proven. Part of him hoped that Bigfoot was real and ghosts existed. "Thanks for confiding in me. I want to know more, if you’ll tell me. How does it work?"

  Aimsir raised his arms in the air. "The sky is full of energies - wind, moisture, pressure, warmth. They are at their peak during a storm. All of those forces can be orchestrated. When the wrong combinations of those energies mix you get chaos - hurricanes, blizzards, droughts."

  "And your pole, how does it work?"

  Elijah smiled, obviously pleased with Geoff’s interest. He stood and placed the long leather case on the table between them. It looked like leather from the Middle Ages, worn and wrinkled. He unbuckled a leather flap on one end and flipped it open. Inside, amongst dark red velvet, was the top of the staff. The Weather Man slowly pulled it out and held horizontally between them. It looked ancient. Its color was greenish-grey, the appearance iron gets with age. Aimsir looked up at Geoff and stared directly into his eyes. After one final hesitation, he handed it over.

  Geoff was wary at first, expecting a shock when he touched it. When he took all the weight, he nearly dropped it. The staff was surprisingly heavy. "What's this thing made of?"

  "It was forged a long time ago, during the time of the Scottish kings. It's cast iron."

  “You mean this thing is a couple centuries old?” Geoff examined it carefully. There were strange designs etched in the metal. At the top and bottom, scrolls and vines twisted around its circumference. In the center was writing, but in no language Geoffrey had ever seen. He recognized none of them and ran his fingers over the boxy letters. "What are these?"

  "Ah, those are runes, the alphabet of the Scottish Celts."

  "What does it say?"

  "It's a listing of the Code, amongst other things."

  Geoff squeezed the cold iron bar in his hands. He could have sworn he felt a small vibration and it made his fingers tingle. But that was silly of course. "Exactly how old is this thing?"

  "It was forged in 1371 by my ancestors."

  "Over 600 years ago! You mean Weather Men have been around for that long?"

  "In one form or another, yes. Over the centuries, we've been called many things."

  Geoff remembered the way it seemed to glow in the old man's hands - the way the clouds responded to his motions. He spun it slowly in a circle. "How does it work?"

  "The staff doesn’t work by itself. The power of a Weather Man's will controls the forces that influence weather. You find the highest ground you can, so you can to see the horizon in all directions. Then you hold the staff over your head and concentrate - sort of get the weather's attention. You move it and your mind in specific patterns. This then influences the weather."

  “It’s that simple?”

  Aimsir chuckled. “Well not exactly. It does take practice.”

  Geoff was trying to digest all that Elijah Aimsir had confided in him. It sounded like the rantings of an eccentric, old man, a man who created a world full of secret Weather Men and ancient Codes. However, there was still what he witnessed on the roof to deal with. Coincidence or cause and effect? He didn't know what to think. Where was the logical voice in his head that told him there are no such things as UFO's or ghosts? Or Weather Men … people who occasionally went on the roof to wave a stick at the sky. In the end, the old man had been right about him. Geoff decided to accept the unexplainable.