The Wilder (The Trouble with Magic Book 1)

by Beach, B. J.

  Karryl shook his head. “I know you said I’ve got ability, but I don’t think I could do any of that.”

  “Not yet you can’t. That’s why you’re here.” There was a sparkle in the little magician’s grey eyes as he leaned forward. “And I’m willing to wager that your aptitude will surprise both of us.”

  Karryl looked dubious. “You can’t know that. I’ll find I can’t do it, and probably just end up breaking loads more stuff.”

  Symon gave him a knowing smile, and shook his head slightly. “You already have one of a good magician’s most essential tools.”

  “I do?”

  “Of course. How else would you have risen through the ranks of a seemingly fair-sized street gang unless you had a quick mind?”

  Karryl shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe because I went to school and read books. Perhaps that had something to do with it.”

  “Partly, maybe. But something else was needed, and from what I’ve seen so far, you obviously have it.”

  Unaccustomed to praise and compliments, Karryl squirmed a little, looking everywhere except at Symon. His glance fell on the space under the table. He gazed for a moment at the intricate design on the little rug. Pulling himself upright, he began to look around more intently.

  The little magician had been quietly watching him. “Is something wrong?”

  Karryl bent down and peered under his chair, then looked hard at Symon. “Where’s the cat? She just seems to have vanished.”

  Symon smiled and flipped a dismissive hand. “Oh! She disappears from time to time, but no doubt she will turn up again shortly. Being a cat, she has her own agenda, as I’m sure all cats do. Now, let’s go outside and see if we can discover what you’re made of.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  A short while later, magician and apprentice were strolling through the woodland in a companionable silence, broken only when Symon would scuttle up to some tree, berried shrub or wild flower and explain with unrestrained enthusiasm, its name and its various properties. At first, Karryl feigned interest, but as the morning wore on he found himself warming to the subject. He began to realise that what he had once considered to be merely weeds, or just trees and bushes, were in fact useful and in some cases, valuable. He began to ask questions. Symon nodded and smiled in approval, his smile sometimes becoming almost beatific when his pupil asked a particularly pertinent question. It was only when Karryl’s stomach began to grumble and growl most alarmingly, that Symon suggested they should return to the tower for lunch.

  Karryl’s face fell. “I thought we were going to do some magic.”

  The little magician wagged a finger at the boy’s impatience. “All in good time. I understand your eagerness to get started, and that’s why you will find the first few weeks of your training the most difficult. You will spend seemingly endless hours studying and observing, thinking and assessing.”

  Tilting his head to one side he gave Karryl a wry smile. “We don’t want you going off like a crossbow that’s only half cocked, do we? Who knows what damage that wayward bolt would do?”

  Hands shoved into his pockets, Karryl stared at the ground as he moodily scuffed at a grass-root with his foot. His stomach growled again.

  He raised his head and grinned at Symon. “I s’pose you’re right. Anyway, I can’t think straight on an empty stomach.”

  The magician patted his palms together and returned the grin. “Nor me, lad. Nor me.”

  Their return through the woodland was unhurried, and they arrived at the tower with an armful of late flowers, berried branches and foliage, which Karryl placed in a large earthenware jug of water. While he was doing this, Symon produced an appetising lunch of cold meats, relish and fresh wholemeal bread, followed by fruit and another cup of the tea of which the little magician was so fond. It was then that the weather decided to put a dampener on Symon’s plans for the afternoon. The sky darkened and heavy raindrops rattled against the window. Magician and apprentice glumly watched rivulets of water snaking down the glass and splattering on the windowsill.

  Symon stood and began to gather up plates. “This may not last too long.” He began to head for the kitchen, then paused and turned. “A good opportunity for you to do some quiet studying. What d’you think?”

  Not being able to think of anything he would rather do, Karryl glanced across at Symon’s book-filled shelves and nodded his agreement.

  Returned from the kitchen, Symon rested his hands on the table, his expression pensive as he looked at Karryl. “Can you draw?”

  Slightly taken aback at the question, the boy’s mouth fell half open as he thought for a moment. Giving Symon an uncertain smile, he gestured vaguely. “Well, I used to draw pictures for the little tackers in our gang, to keep them amused, you know? The older ones seemed to like them as well.”

  Not sure what to expect, he watched as Symon scurried across the room and opened a cupboard Karryl hadn’t noticed before. Suspicious, the boy frowned as Symon took out a sheaf of paper and a box of drawing materials.

  After placing them on the table, Symon then fetched the jug of flowers and foliage and stood it beside them. “See what you can make of those. It will be good training in observation, a vital tool for any good magician. As for me, I think I’ll look for some other things we’ll need to use later.”

  Settling down at the table Karryl sorted through the box of drawing materials. Satisfied with his selection, he pulled the jug a little closer and began to study the various flowers and berried twigs he and Symon had gathered that morning.

  After a while, he looked up from the drawing he was making. “Excuse me, Master Symon. Is there a book about these plants that I could look at?”

  Symon thought for a moment, then crossed over to the bookshelves. Reaching up as high as he could he hefted down a heavy volume bound in brown leather.

  Almost reverently he ran his fingers over the cover before placing the book in front of his new apprentice. “There you are my boy. Father Clement’s Herbal. You will find everything you need to know for now within those pages. The drawings are very good. It’s the volume I used when I was an apprentice.”

  Karryl’s eyes opened wide in surprise and he was about to say something, but thought better of it.

  Symon chuckled. “Yes, it is a very old book, but the information it contains is still current, and its value as a study book is inestimable. Father Clement was the greatest herbalist and teacher of his time, and his book is the definitive volume for all students of medicine and the magical arts. I always looked forward to his lectures.”

  Karryl swallowed hard, letting his fingers caress the smooth chestnut-glossy cover with its heavily embossed title picked out in gold, albeit worn slightly thin in places.

  Symon reached out and patted the volume almost affectionately. “Take it to your room when you’ve had enough studying for today. That’s where it belongs now. And there’s no need to address me as Master when we’re here. Everyone calls me Symon, because that is my name.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “You only need to address me as ‘Master’ when there are other people present.”

  Karryl nodded. “Thank you.” he replied, and carefully opened the cover of Father Clement’s Herbal. After he had been perusing the volume for about an hour, he looked across to the window seat. Legs crossed at the ankles, Symon sat examining and sorting a large bundle of scrolls. Some he dropped to the floor, and others he tucked carefully into the space beside him, his low murmurings accompanied by satisfied little nods. He was, however, not so engrossed in his task that he didn’t notice Karryl hoping to catch his eye.

  The magician regarded him from under his bushy white eyebrows. “Problems, Karryl?”

  Karryl’s expression was puzzled. With a brief shake of his head he indicated the large book in front of him. “Not really. It’s just that there are a lot of herbs and plants in this book that don’t seem to grow out in the woods, but there’s instructions for growing them in a garden or in pots. Have you got a garden, ‘co
s I don’t remember seeing one when we were out this morning?”

  Symon jumped to his feet, scattering scrolls in all directions. “Yes, yes, of course! I have a garden, a beautiful garden.”

  He hurried to the window and peered out. “Good. It’s stopped raining, and I can even see a patch of blue sky. Yes, that is where we should be, not stuck indoors. Come, I’ll show it to you. You’ll more than likely learn just as much out there as you will studying that book, and the fresh air will give you an appetite. You can help me dig some carrots and pick some late beans and then we’ll have a feast at suppertime!”

  Karryl grinned at his master’s almost childlike enthusiasm. Finding it also extremely infectious, he clattered along behind him down the stairs, trying hard not to laugh as Symon waved his hands about in the air whilst rattling off the names of the varieties he grew in his garden. Following the little path that wound its way beside the tower, they arrived at another narrow gravelled path branching off to the left and ending at a small copse of silver birch trees. Now turned to the butter yellow of autumn, the close leaves fluttered and shimmered in the cool breeze.

  Symon stopped. “Here we are.”

  Karryl stared. “But …all I can see is trees!”

  The little magician looked at him and raised a bushy eyebrow. “Is that a fact?” He lifted a finger, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. “Watch, and remember what you can. This will be your first opportunity to learn a practical spell.”

  Facing the trees and holding out his hands at waist level, palms forwards, he uttered a short phrase in a language strange to Karryl’s ears. As his mind raced in an effort to catch the words, the little copse of trees seemed to turn to liquid and melt away into the ground. There in front of them was a small, neatly laid-out garden.

  Hardly able to believe what he had just witnessed, Karryl took a hesitant step forward. “Was it there all the time?”

  “But of course. All I did was to remove the spell of concealment, otherwise known as a ‘glamour’. It’s a lot easier than building fences, and it won’t blow down in a gale! Shall we go and see what we can find?”

  Master and apprentice spent the next couple of hours amongst the wide variety of fruit, vegetables and herbs which grew in the well tended, sheltered plot. From a tidy little potting shed at the far end of the garden Symon collected a fork and a wooden trug and together they dug carrots and picked the last of the bean crop. Taking the trug of beans, Karryl followed Symon to the apple tree and watched as, with a gentle lift and a twist, the magician picked several golden, rosy-blushed apples and placed them in the trug with the beans.

  Symon’s round face glowed with pleasure. “Right ! Let’s collect the carrots and then go home and prepare to devour nature’s bounty. Don’t forget to stand behind me while I replace the concealment.”

  * * *

  While they were sitting down to supper, Karryl raised a subject that had been on his mind since he began his studies. “When will I start learning to do real magic, like that spell of concealment…er…glamour… you showed me at the garden? That looked really easy, and I’m sure I can remember the words.”

  Symon regarded him from under his eyebrows as he crunched on a pickle. Eventually he replied. “You must have patience. There is much more to learn before you make even the smallest attempt. Suppose you were to try and cast a spell at this moment, mispronounced something or used an incorrect word, and it went wrong. I doubt if you could begin to imagine what dire consequences that might have!”

  Karryl looked puzzled. “But wouldn’t it just…well…not happen?”

  Gravely, Symon shook his head. “Not necessarily. A spell cast with a lack of confidence, or with insufficient time to complete would, as you say, more than likely fall flat. However, I feel that confidence is something that you do not lack, although we haven’t yet established what actual magical strength you may have. It’s a very humbling and frequently painful experience to have a spell come back at you. In the case of a powerful spell, it could even result in the unfortunate demise of the practitioner.”

  Pausing for a moment to gauge the reaction of his young apprentice, Symon picked up his knife and fork and proceeded to finish his supper, leaving the boy deep in thought. He remained so for the rest of the evening until he went to his room, leaving Symon reading a book and puffing contentedly on his pipe.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Rain had been falling almost constantly for the last three days. Karryl was not unhappy, just restless. He felt shut in. His life until a few weeks ago had been out in the open, having no option but to brave all weathers, seeking what shelter he and the little gang he ran with could find. He desperately wanted to go down into Vellethen. He missed the rough smart boys, and the duffers who looked to him to guide them through the trials of a hard life that few of them lived by choice. The smells and sounds of the streets he knew so well, the hustle and bustle of the places he had grown up in, crowded his memory, playing havoc with his concentration.

  Despondent and slightly bored, he flicked the pages of the small volume he had been making a valiant effort to read. He had hoped he would have been allowed to do some magic by now, even just one of the simple spells which Symon was constantly demonstrating. Despite several broad hints, to which he appeared to be frustratingly immune, Symon had kept his apprentice at his books.

  With a weak smile he murmured “Thank you” as the little magician placed a large mug of steaming hot tea in front of him, before seating himself opposite.

  Sipping at his own, Symon regarded Karryl over the rim of his mug. “Apart from what should be, what else is on your mind?”

  Karryl closed his book, leaned back in his chair, and let out a loud sigh. His tone was peevish. “If you must know, I was wondering how long it’ll be before I can go into the city.”

  Symon also leaned back, cradling his mug in his tiny hands. A quiver of mystified amusement crossed his lips. “Whenever you like. You’re not a prisoner you know.”

  Eyes wide in disbelief, Karryl slammed his mug down on the table, sloshing tea dangerously close to his book. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been cooped up in here, my nose buried day after day in an…an…endless pile of…of…tomes and scrolls, and all the while you knew?”

  Placing his own mug calmly and deliberately in the centre of a small rush mat, Symon gave his apprentice a long, flat look. “The reason why…if you must know…” Karryl blushed furiously as Symon threw his own words back at him… “is that, until late yesterday I didn’t know myself. Now, you may or may not be pleased to hear, you are legally my ward. A few more days and we shall go and see about signing the indentures of your apprenticeship.”

  His mind whirling, and unable to stop the grin that was creasing his face, Karryl stared at Symon. “That means…”

  “It means, my boy, that you are a citizen of Vellethen. Consequently, unless you do anything to break that law, you are free to go anywhere the law allows.”

  To Symon’s amusement, Karryl’s response was to dash into the kitchen and return with a cloth. Quickly mopping up the spilt tea, he grinned at Symon, shrugged and tore back into the kitchen.

  Seconds later he stood, tugging at his tunic, beside Symon’s chair. “Would it be alright if I went now?”

  Symon stood and crossed to the window. As if by a whim of the gods, the rain had stopped and patches of pale blue sky showed between swiftly moving white clouds.

  Beckoning Karryl over to him, Symon rummaged in a pocket of his robe. Retrieving a folded sheet of paper, he held it out. “Take this with you. It’s proof of your wardship. Let’s hope you don’t need it.”

  As Karryl tucked the paper into a pocket of his jerkin, Symon produced a large silver coin, seemingly from thin air. “You might find this useful too. Don’t lose it or waste it.”

  Hesitantly, Karryl took the coin, hefting it in the palm of his hand. “Is it real?”

  The magician gave a loud huff of indignation. “Of course it’s real. Now, try
not to get into any bother, and be back before dark. I don’t want to have to come out and look for you.”

  Karryl grinned. “You won’t.”

  Symon nodded. “I hope you’re right. Let’s be off then. I’ll go with you until we get to the city. I have some business of my own to attend to.”

  He crossed the room and took a grey woollen hooded coat from a peg on the wall, shrugging into it as they made their way down the stairs. At the bottom, Symon opened the door, and the grey cat sidled in. Looking up at Karryl, she gave a short soft miaow before bounding up the stairs.

  The little magician chuckled. “There you are you see. I said she’d be back eventually. Now off we go.” He pulled the door closed behind him.

  Karryl turned and was starting to walk along the narrow path leading from Symon’s tower down towards the parade ground at the rear of the barracks, when he heard Symon call out to him. “This way! It’s much quicker.”

  Almost hidden amongst the surrounding trees, the little magician was beckoning. Karryl changed direction, hurrying to catch up as Symon tramped briskly along a path which disappeared into the shrubs and undergrowth.

  Karryl peered ahead. “Where does this lead to?”

  The corners of Symon’s mouth twitched. “You’ll see when we come out.”

  He strode off into the trees. Amazed at the pace set by the diminutive magician, Karryl found himself having to trot to keep up. A short while later he was even more amazed to see they had emerged near the Little Market.

  Symon grinned at him. “Good, isn’t it? And I doubt very much that anyone could find their way back in again.”

  Lost for words, Karryl looked back in the direction from which they had come, staring hard at the densely tangled hedge behind them. Seeing no evidence of either path or gap, he shook his head in bewilderment. “So which way do I get back then? I can’t say I know your neck of the woods all that well. It’s a fair step from the city.”