by C. Night
A full moon peeked through the leaves of the tree towering above him, lending him light. With only the tiniest bit of difficulty, Rhyen reread his offers. He had a plan for his decision: he would go through and eliminate all that he could. As his committee had recommended that he study under a witch or wizard, Rhyen could right away take the magician’s offer off his mind.
Rhyen blinked down at the list. He would sooner pull his own teeth than study politics, and he was practically useless at astronomy, having guessed his way through his two years at the subject. He mentally crossed off both of those. Rhyen laughed out loud at the healing and veterinary offers. Those were both out—he grew queasy if someone sustained a paper cut near him, let alone a life-threatening wound. But at the thought of blood, nausea overcame him again, and Rhyen thrust his head between his knees. After a few minutes the feeling passed, and he sat up slowly, groaning.
“I will never drink again,” he muttered, shaking out his paper and peering down at it once more.
The last three subjects were equally interesting to Rhyen. After weighing them for a few minutes, Rhyen realized that he couldn’t pick one subject over the other. As all three were given by wizards of equal status, Rhyen considered the cities to determine which to choose. Ikha, Corna, and Vanko. Rhyen looked around at the stately brick buildings and cobbled avenues he had called home for eight years. He had liked Ikha during his time at the Academy, but, frowning, Rhyen thought it would be rather boring to stay here for an apprenticeship. He crossed that off his list too.
Rhyen smiled. Perhaps it was the wine, but eliminating options went much smoother and quicker than he had originally thought it would. In fact, Rhyen found that he was actually enjoying himself. It was very comfortable sitting on the cool bench in the humid night air, with the wind pulling ever so slightly at his hair and the moon gazing down at him.
So it was between Vanko and Corna. He closed his eyes and imagined the cities on the map of his mind. Corna was to the west, by the sea, and Vanko was north, high up in the Shunglu Mountains. Rhyen loved the mountains. Here in Ikha he could see the distant foothills of the Shunglus. They looked purple in the distance, and the snow on their tips most of the year, flashing like fire whenever the sun hit them. Rhyen imagined snow falling lightly on his face in the winter and the tall pine trees that perfumed the air year round. He wouldn’t mind going to Vanko. But then he remembered the tales of the salty air and the crash of the waves on the sand, and Rhyen realized that he would like to go to Corna as well.
He opened his eyes. The visions of the sea and snow melted away, and Rhyen was left staring at the three-story brick building that served as the teachers’ quarters. A light was still on in Cazing’s window. The rest of the building was dark. It must be very late indeed.
Rhyen didn’t know which offer to accept. Perhaps he would just blurt the first one that popped into his head tomorrow when Madame Boon barked at him to give his decision. He sat there for a long time, staring at the building and thinking of mountains and seas. Gradually, he felt the last traces of wooziness and alcohol leave him.
Rhyen blinked. He leaned forward slightly, staring at the roof over Cazing’s office. It was bare. He stood up, relieved that his legs did as instructed, and squinted intently at the building. He blinked, then looked again, this time certain that there was no water tank on the roof.
A second passed before he realized what that meant. If there was no water tank on the roof, then where did the water from the spigot come from? Rhyen stared, open mouthed, up at Cazing’s room.
“Impossible!” he breathed, but there could be no doubt. Cazing was a magic wielder! How else could he explain the water? Rhyen dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reached Cazing’s door. He drew back so that he wouldn’t be seen from the window, but studied the spigot. He saw the pipe sticking out the window, and could see just a sliver of the spigot head from his view. Rhyen swore under his breath, amazed. The pipe simply stopped. It didn’t connect to anything. That was absolute proof that the spigot was magic.
Rhyen thought about knocking on Cazing’s door, but no sooner had he registered the thought than the lights flickered inside the apartment, plunging the room into darkness. Rhyen backed to the steps and took them slowly, still gazing in wonder at the few inches of pipe that went nowhere, but from which he himself had drawn a full kettle earlier. Rhyen also remembered how the fire and lanterns had sprung into flame, and almost laughed. That had been magic too!
He had never known that Cazing was a magic wielder. No one knew—or at least, no student knew. Cazing had never mentioned it, never demonstrated his ability. Rhyen suddenly wondered how old Cazing was. Magic extended the wielder’s life, sometimes incredibly. If Cazing was a wizard he might be a hundred years old. And he definitely was a wizard, because no magician could call forth water from nothingness.
An idea came to him—a crazy idea that, once fully formed, seized his mind. Rhyen turned and began sprinting for the library. It was a radical idea, but he must make sure first, make certain that it was allowed. But it had to be allowed. Hadn’t Cazing himself mentioned it earlier? It began to rain, and thunder rumbled deep in the sky, but still Rhyen ran. He had to check, but he was convinced he was right, and that would solve all his problems…
* * *
He awoke with a start. At first he was disorientated, blinking blearily. After a few seconds, Rhyen realized he was in the library, the sun shining merrily through the glass over him, it’s rays warming the side of his face. The other side was stuck to the pages of the large book opened on the table in front of him.
Rhyen peeled the sticky parchment from his cheek and smoothed it down. He remembered that he had indeed found what he was looking for early this morning after he pounded on the library door until the grumpy librarian admitted him. Rhyen had grabbed a stack of books about Academy rules and policies, scanning through them, looking specifically for sections about apprenticeships. He had found the information he needed in a book close to the bottom of his stack, and must have promptly fallen asleep.
Rhyen quickly reread the clause, committing it to memory. He jumped up, muttering the phrase to himself, making certain that he wouldn’t forget. Rhyen slammed the book closed, mouthed “sorry!” to the librarian, who had turned sharply at the sound, and raced toward the door. But guilt got the better of him, and Rhyen turned back to quickly stuff the books on the “Returns” shelf. The librarian raised an affronted eyebrow.
“Sorry!” Rhyen whispered again at her, but she just put a finger to her lips and angrily hissed “Shush!” Rhyen rolled his eyes—the injustice of it all—and ran for the door.
His eyes watered in the brilliance of the sunlit sky. The sun hung relatively high over the horizon.
“Dammit!” Rhyen realized that he was, once again, running very late. He was almost always up before dawn, but of course the one day he wasn’t was the one day he should have been. He sprinted to the Hall and tore open the entry door, barreling inside.
“You should consider buying a watch,” Cazing said lazily. Rhyen turned. It was as though last night was happening all over again. Rhyen was sweaty and out of breath, his hair uncombed and his robes disheveled. And there was Cazing, leaning against the same pillar he had occupied the day before, calmly measuring tobacco into his pipe.
“Has it started? Have I missed it?” Rhyen asked mechanically. But he knew the answer before Cazing gave it.
“No, but it’s about to begin.” Cazing lit his pipe and took a long drag. He held the smoke in for a few moments, then blew it out towards the ceiling. Rhyen glanced up. Smoke rings again. His sense of déjà vu increased.
“You look like you had an interesting night of it,” stated Cazing dryly. “I take it you’ve made your decision?”
“Yes, and yes,” said Rhyen. His breath was slowing. “Master, I’ve need to ask—”
But before Rhyen could finish,
Madame Boon once again pushed the great door to the hall open and stood glaring at him. She sniffed the air suspiciously and scowled accusingly at Rhyen. But, unlike last night, she settled for narrowing her eyes instead of speaking, then simply jerked her head at Rhyen. He sidled by her into the Hall, and boldly, though perhaps not too confidently, strode to his seat in the sunken center, directly in front of the raised table.
Boon and Cazing took their places, and though Rhyen’s heart was pounding nervously, he sat up straight in his chair, face set. He had made his decision. The teachers took their places and gradually the chatting died down.
“Rhyen Hyldhem,” Madame Boon began, shuffling her papers, “we are gathered back today to hear your decision on your offers of tutelage. You received a total of eight such offers, and had the night to chose one for your apprenticeship. The offers are as follows—”
Before she could finish, Rhyen cleared his throat. “Madame Boon? If it pleases the committee, I don’t need to hear the offers again. I’ve made my decision.” He was impressed that his voice was steady.
The teachers murmured to each other. Clearly it was not everyday that students were this certain about their apprenticeship. Or perhaps it was the fact that he interrupted Boon that made the teachers mutter. Either way, Rhyen gazed steadily at them, waiting.
Madame Boon raised her eyebrows until they were almost lost in her steely hair. After a moment’s consideration, she settled back in her chair and opened her hands, palms up. “Very well. What is your decision, Mister Hyldhem?”
Rhyen swallowed. “Pursuant to Clause 6 of Article 97 of the Policies and Procedures of the Academy at Ikha, which states that ‘A pupil has the right to choose his or her own avenue of tutelage in the event that he or she either A) Receive no formal offers of apprenticeship, B) Receive only offers of apprenticeship that are below their recommended level of magic wielding capabilities or are not consistent with their affinities, which must be specified by their official review committee, or C) Proposes an alternate course of apprenticeship with a recognized master or mistress, so long as the master or mistress agrees to the terms of the tutelage,’” Rhyen recited with growing nerves, “I would like to offer myself as an apprentice to my former teacher, Master Cazing in the Academy of Ikha, in whatever subject he deems appropriate for my instruction.”
There was absolute silence as the teachers exchanged incredulous looks or stared open mouthed, at Rhyen. His mouth dry, Rhyen stared up at Cazing, who was leaned back on his chair’s hind legs, feet on the table, and hands behind his head, looking toward the ceiling. Cazing gave no indication that he heard Rhyen’s request.
Rhyen’s heart sank. He thought for sure that his appeal, though admittedly bold, was not altogether out of place. After all, Cazing had invited him over to his office, which was an extremely rare treat, so he must be somewhat fond of Rhyen. He had taught him for so long. And he was the one who put the idea of alternate apprenticeships into Rhyen’s head to begin with! Rhyen had thought that Cazing would want to apprentice him, but it was obvious from his casual demeanor that he wasn’t seriously considering the appeal.
A considerable amount of time passed, and the teachers began to whisper to each other, all the while frowning at Rhyen. His eyes found the floor, although every few seconds he glanced up at Cazing, who never moved. Finally, Madame Boon leaned forward. “Mister Hyldhem, this is a very unusual request. It is not every committee that gets quoted Article 97’s Clause 6. However, you are well informed and correct in stating that you have to right to suggest your own apprenticeship. Unfortunately, you require the approval of the master in question. Master Cazing?” She turned toward Cazing.
It was as though he didn’t hear her. “Master Cazing? Master Cazing!” She almost shouted.
Cazing jumped a little in his seat. “What?” he said defensively, hastily returning his feet to the floor.
“Rhyen Hyldhem has just invoked Clause 6 of Article 97 to submit a plea for apprenticeship with you! Weren’t you paying attention?” Boon demanded incredulously.
“Of course I was!” Cazing retorted indignantly. But then he turned his head toward Rhyen, considering him seriously. He stared at him in silence. Minutes ticked by. Finally, he said in a low voice while gazing intently at Rhyen, “Your committee recommended that you apprentice to a magic wielder of at least witch or wizard status.” Madame Boon and the rest of the teachers looked at Cazing, confused.
“But—” She started. Cazing held up his hand to her, and she fell silent. He continued to appraise Rhyen.
“Well?” he asked quietly.
“But, sir, you are a wielder,” Rhyen started, confused. “The spigot in your office is attached to no water tank. And that fire was lit by magic…”
“True, I am a wielder,” Cazing admitted, still in a quiet voice. “But what makes you think I have enough talent to train you?”
Rhyen didn’t know what to say. After a second he stammered, “I’m sure you do, sir.”
Cazing looked disappointed. “That is a valueless answer.” He started to turn away from Rhyen, who understood that this chance was slipping through his fingers.
He spoke quickly. “I saw the fires burst into being without you even uttering a word. Logically, that must mean that you have skill enough to wield magic without even needing to speak. As I have never seen this done by any of other teachers at the Academy, most of whom are at least magicians, I assume that it is a trait of someone at a higher level.” Cazing had paused in his turning away, and Rhyen felt a swell of hope. He plowed on. “Additionally, the water in the spigot was pulled from nothingness! I saw that the pipe was not connected to any water tank, yet water flowed from it as though from a stream. That alone suggests a wielder of immense skill.”
Again, the teachers muttered to each other, but the tone of the voices this time were much more encouraging. Cazing looked at Rhyen again. “Well reasoned,” he said in his normal voice, and Rhyen felt like he had passed some sort of test.
“Does this mean that you accept his offer, Cazing?” said Mistress Boon in disbelief. Rhyen was on the edge of his seat, hopeful.
“No,” Cazing leaned back, thoughtful. Rhyen hung his head. “Not yet.”
Rhyen snapped his head up again. “What can I do to convince you, Master?” he asked desperately.
“You can answer me this: What is the lessor evil—doing something bad for a good reason, or something good for a bad reason?”
Rhyen’s mind went blank. Normally he was great at answering questions, but now, when it truly mattered, he could not for the life of him think of a reply. Hopelessly he struggled. In almost a whisper, he admitted his defeat. “I don’t know.”
The teachers frowned. But Cazing stared at Rhyen, measuring him. Finally, he said, “I accept your submission, Rhyen. From this moment on, you are my apprentice.”
Rhyen was shocked. He listened in numb excitement as Cazing turned to Madame Boon and said, “My fellow colleagues, please consider this to be my formal resignation from the Academy. I will now focus my efforts on the teaching of a single student, my new apprentice.”
Madame Boon gaped at him. “Resignation? But Cazing, where will you go?”
“Home.” Cazing grinned at her and patted her shoulder. “I haven’t been there in years, and I’m due for a visit.”
“If it’s even still there!” She said in stunned disbelief. “Well, I for one will miss you terribly, except during committee meetings.”
Cazing smiled wider and stood up. He gestured to Rhyen, who also stumbled to his feet. “I know it is customary to have a luncheon in the graduate’s honor, but we have a ways to go and should leave within the hour. I must ask that you feast without us!”
“Of course,” she said, standing also, clumsy in her surprise. Boon stretched out her hand to Cazing’s. He shook it briefly, then strode toward the door, beckoning Rhyen to accompany him. Rhyen hastily
waved at the still stunned committee and mumbled “Thanks” before hurrying after his new master.
When he burst through the entry door into the sunlit courtyard, Rhyen was almost beside himself with excitement. Walking away from the committee had pulled him out of his surprised stupor, and the realization that he was going to apprentice to his favorite teacher after all had dawned on him like the first spring day after a long, cold winter. He grinned uncontrollably as he caught up to Cazing.
Before Rhyen could say anything at all, Cazing abruptly stopped walking and turned toward him. Rhyen was the taller of the two, and Cazing had to look up to catch his new apprentice’s eye. Cazing stared gravely at him, Rhyen tried unsuccessfully to stop smiling and make a serious face.
“Rhyen, I do not take your apprenticeship lightly. If we are to truly continue down this path, you need to understand this: Magic is dangerous, and wielders are responsible for their actions. I will teach you, but you need to obey me with the understanding that my very first priority is to keep you—and others around you— safe. Are we clear?”
Rhyen answered immediately. “Yes, Master! I understand! What kind of magic will we learn first?”
Cazing’s seriousness broke under his apprentice’s enthusiasm. Smiling, he replied, “Well, nothing until we get to where we’re going. I assume, by the state of your wardrobe and hygiene,” he said, gesturing to Rhyen’s wrinkled clothes and tousled hair, “that you were up all night. And I’m guessing you didn’t spend it packing?”
“Packing?” said Rhyen blankly. “Oh, uh, no, but I don’t have much, so I can have it ready in no time. If that’s okay…” he trailed off, his smile slipping.
“That’s fine. We do have quite a long journey ahead of us, though, and I’d like to leave right away, within the hour.” Cazing clapped his hands decisively. “We’ll meet right back here before noon. Go!”