The Wandering Apprentice

by Matthew Mitchell

  You can imagine my surprise when I entered the camp and discovered that there was a small pack-shell eating the old berries. The pack-shell was only about three foot long and smelled like a swamp. The mule did not like the smell of this large animal sharing the clearing. I started laughing because the pack-shell was ignoring the mule and was so engrossed in eating the berries that it had not noticed my noisy approach. It's eyes were closed in ecstasy and it did not move until it had eaten every last trace of berries from the ground. It then slowly crawled into the pool. It seemed to disappear completely, not even ripples betraying it's presence. The mule decided that it could finally calm down and started grazing. I walked into the camp and curled up to sleep. The question of where a lone pack-shell had come from and how he came to be in this pool ran around in my brain. Evidently at some point some travelers had made camp here and lost the little pack-shell. Maybe his mother had laid him while resting here. There seemed to be no answer that I could come up with that I could verify. As I went to sleep the pack-shell occupied my thoughts.

  The next morning I dug out some roots and other stuff that I knew would go bad before I could use them. I made a pile of them beside the pool and left them for the little pack-shell. I guessed that if he was hungry enough to approach a human camp, he would need plenty of food. I continued on my way, moving slowly because of the mule. It's hoof was better but still sore. I only traveled about half my normal distance that day. I made camp that night and put another poultice on the mule's hoof. I hoped that the swelling would go down enough for us to travel closer to regular speed. I had made camp beside another stream, this one ran faster so no pools could form. As I sat there thinking I heard a sound like breathing, I looked around and realized that the sound was coming from the stream. I saw a pair of eyes just above the water and saw that it was a pack-shell. I wondered, was there more pack-shell's in the wild than I thought? This pack-shell was watching me as if waiting for something. I had baked roots for dinner and one had burnt. I tossed this one out into the water and watched the pack-shell chase it down. I went to sleep wondering about wild pack-shell's.

  The next day the mule was in much better shape and we made good time. I didn't see any more pack-shell's before I reached the next village. I stayed there for three days trading with the various people. I heard a story about how some pack-shell's had wandered off and been lost for ten days. All the pack-shell's were recaptured but maybe one had laid the eggs that hatched my late night visitors. That would explain how some pack-shell's had come to be in the local water sources. Well I thought, another mystery solved. I finished my trading and continued on. The only problem was my mule had caught a local illness that was moving through the livestock. He was snuffling and sneezing. He slowly started to wheeze and have trouble breathing. I tried everything to make him feel better but nothing seemed to work. Two days outside of the village, the mule fell down and died. He had drowned from the fluid that built up in his lungs. I had a major problem. I had a mule's load of stuff and no mule. So I buried the mule and made up my mind that I would have to abandon whatever I could not carry. That night I had a small pot of stew and then went to sleep. I woke up the next morning to the sound of an animal going through the pile of discarded goods. I looked over and saw yet another pack-shell. After looking closer I realized that instead of three pack-shells I had actually only seen one pack-shell that had been following me. Evidently it had liked the food so much it decided to follow the source. So, what was I to do? I spent the next couple of days befriending the pack-shell and getting him used to carrying a load. He seemed more than willing to follow me as long as I had food. He started growing and has not stopped since. That's how I came to have Tag."

  ***

  Stain stopped talking and I realized we had made good time, we were well into the woods. I had not even noticed what was going on around me I was so interested in the story.

  "But Stain, you did not say how Tag got his name." I complained. That was my original question and I still did not know.

  Stain laughed and said, "Actually I did, just not directly. I called him Tag because he tagged along behind me. I named him Tag-A-Long, Tag for short."

  The whole time Stain had been talking he was looking around and occasionally he would stop. Each time he stopped he would pick, cut, dig, or otherwise acquire a part of a plant. The tools he used to do this were hanging from his belt. A small hooked knife and shovel hung from hooks on each side. He placed each plant part into the odd waist pack. He never seemed to hurry, yet he made good time. Tag followed at a leisurely pace snacking on plants that grew beside the path. My father followed far behind Tag, keeping watch on the woods. He would stop every once in a while and stare deep into the woods. He was obviously looking for something to hunt.

  "If we continue on at this pace we will reach the campsite before dark." Stain declared. He seemed content. "Well young Ott, any other questions for an old man?" Stain smiled.

  "Why do you do what you do? I mean traveling like this. Couldn't you grow what you need in a garden?" I wondered. It made more sense to me that someone would think of this. Why was Stain traveling so much?

  "Well, If I stayed in one spot then who would help all the villages I stopped visiting? I help several hundred villages throughout the year, bringing healing to as many people as I can. I also provide the local healers with plants that do not grow in their area. Most of those plants do not do well in a garden. If they grow at all, they grow stunted. So you see, I travel because I can help the most people that way." Stain explained all of this calmly, much like a teacher. "I take great pleasure in knowing that I can help people."

  We traveled in silence for a little while, me walking and considering Stain's explanation, while Stain collected plants.

  "Why do you collect those plants? I mean I know they each have a purpose, but I do not know what they are. I only know a little herb-lore, what my dad has taught me." I babbled to fill the silence.

  "Let us see how much you really know, shall we?" Stain grinned. He started pointing out plants and asking me to tell him everything that I knew about it. Nothing was too insignificant for Stain. He pointed to mushrooms, ferns, trees, bushes, even at the moss growing on rocks. "Every plant has a purpose, some great, some simple, some even dangerous. It is up to the herbalist to know which one is for what use." Stain quipped.

  We continued on the rest of the day this way with Stain asking questions and me answering him to the best of my ability. Sometimes I could go on for many minutes about one plant, other times I knew nothing at all. At those times Stain would give some basic information about that plant. Usually the name, it's most common use, and how to harvest it for the greatest use. Before I realized it we had traveled beyond the heavy woods and moved into the evergreen forest.

  "The campsite I have in mind is just ahead. We have made good time today." Stain declared. He pointed to a group of tall trees that clustered like a group of hens. We made our way among them and suddenly a small stream and pool appeared in a clearing. "This should do, I have camped here before and there should be plenty of water and room for our little group. Let's get camp made while your father brings in his kill."

  "His kill? How do you know he has made a kill?" I had not heard anything and dad had walked off the side of the trail a little while ago.

  "Well, If I know your father, he will not come into camp without something to show for it and since he is a forester that means he probably made a kill. Maybe a brace of rabbits or some fowl." Stain had started to unload a few of Tag's bundles. He quickly had a small fire burning with a neat camp pitched within the shelter of the trees. A small pot hung over the fire. He had filled it with water and was busy cutting up roots. "Do you know how to slice mushrooms Ott?"

  "Mushrooms? Sure, but what mushrooms? I do not see any around." I looked for some place that mushrooms usually grew; a dead log, a damp hollow, or even a shadowed rock. But no mushrooms were in sight.

  "Well I happen to have some mushrooms in t
he my mushroom chest. It is the one that has mushrooms carved into the lid. Please get four mushrooms out and cut them into strips." Stain pointed out a dark chest on Tag's back.

  "Do we need to unload Tag? He has a lot of stuff on his back." The pack-shell looked almost buried in his burdens. I grabbed the chest and placed it on the ground.

  "We will not have to unload Tag until we get to Sunnydale. The stuff on his back will not bother him as long as he can rest each night. His shell distributes the weight off his body and onto the ground. He is not really holding up anything unless he is walking, it is simply resting on his shell."

  I opened the chest and found out why Stain called it his mushroom chest. It was full of mushrooms. Not dried mushrooms, but growing mushrooms. All sorts of mushrooms grew on what looked to be a piece of rotted wood. I noticed some that Stain had explained were safe to eat and would also help with sore muscles. I picked four large ones and then closed the chest.

  "I have never seen anyone growing mushrooms like that, Stain."

  "A friend of mine showed me how to do that. Since mushrooms do not need the sun, they grow well in a dark chest. Which means that I will usually have fresh mushrooms no matter what. Ah, those are a good choice Ott, not only will they add some flavor to our meal but they will keep our legs from hurting in the morning. Did you remember me mentioning it earlier or did you just pick those?" Stain seemed to be testing me, for what I was not sure.

  "I remembered. You said that these were good for sore or swollen muscles, especially if they were fresh. You also mentioned that they grew in caves where bats lived and that you must harvest them at night to keep from being bitten by those bats." I cut up the mushrooms, using a rock to lay them on. I felt like when dad tested me to see if I had paid attention.

  "Well, I am pleasantly surprised at you Ott. Most people would not have paid much attention to the ramblings of a companion during a long walk after the days like you have had lately. If I may ask, why did you?" Stain looked at me from across the fire. His eyes shown with an glimmer. A deep consideration seemed to rest behind his words.

  I thought for a few moments, "Well Stain, you seem to have a lot of knowledge about the world and I guess I would be a fool not to listen to what you would explain to me. Plus I love to learn." I grinned self-consciously. "My dad says it is a waste to ignore the teachings of those who will share their knowledge.

  "That is right Ott." My father walked into the clearing. He carried a brace of rabbits. "Knowledge freely given is the best kind. It would be a shame to know that you wasted someone else's hard won knowledge. I was able to flush some hares and caught two." He placed the rabbits beside the rock with the mushrooms.

  I proceeded to gut and skin the rabbits. I tossed all the good parts and the mushrooms into the pot that had started to bubble. I set the scraps aside for Pat.

  "Stain, do you normally travel alone? I mean, it seems like your used to having a companion while you travel and yet you were alone when you came to the cabin."

  Stain stirred the stew, making smells swarm into the air. "Well Ott, that is a pretty complicated question. Luckily for you the answer is pretty simple. Sometimes I do have company as I travel." He smiled at me across the fire. He seemed to have decided to suddenly become stingy with his answers.

  "Who do you normally travel with?" I wondered what other kinds of people traveled like Stain. "Where do they go and what do they do?"

  "Ott! You are being rude. You are starting to pry into matters that might be personal." My father startled me. I had not realized that I was being rude.

  "Stain, I'm sorry! I wasn't trying to be rude, I was simply curious about your life." I felt embarrassed. How could I behave that way?

  "Ott, it's fine. While your father has a point that you were being rude, your desire to learn is refreshing and I willingly forgive you. No harm done." Stain seemed pleased with the whole episode. He confused me. One minute he was pouring information into my head (much like my father) and the next he was holding back information to see what I would do. He kept me off balance.

  Pat murmured from behind Tag's head, "Is dinner ready? I am starving!" The little dragonet climbed up the pile on Tag's back. He hopped and glided to the fire, landing on the ground next to Stain.

  "Why are you hungry lizard? All you did is sleep today." I loved yanking Pat's tail, both literally and verbally. Stain smiled at me and shook his head. He and my father exchanged glances and they both smirked.

  A small curl of flame flew in front of my face. "Watch it stone foot. I can toast you where you sit." Pat smugly said.

  "O ho! Someone woke up cranky!" Stain teased Pat as he dug in his sack. "You can try to toast me little lizard, I do not scare easily."

  Pat whirled around and blew a tendril of flame at Stain. Stain suddenly jumped and threw the contents of a cup towards Pat. It connected with the flame and extinguished it mid-air. The fluid landed on Pat.

  "EW! What is that!" Pat was twisting around trying to get the liquid off of his hide. The more he rubbed against the ground the more material stuck to him. In just a few seconds he was covered with dirt, leaves, rocks, and even sticks. He soon resembled a moving bush. His movements slowly ceased.

  A forlorn voice came from within the mass of material, "I am sorry. Please help me." Pat had grown completely still. Stain approached him and dumped another fluid over the mass that was Pat. Almost instantly the mass of material fell away leaving a much humbler dragonet standing in a pile of mess. "That was not a bit funny Stain." Pat murmured. He quietly crawled into my lap and proceeded to lick his whole body clean.

  "That will teach you to assume you are in charge my scaly friend." Stain had resumed his seat. "Just because someone seems less dangerous than you does not make them defenseless." Stain continued to stir the stew, checking parts to see if they were done.

  "Stain? What was that liquid you used on Pat? I have never seen anything like that!" I was astonished. I had never seen any fluid behave the way it had. "It seemed almost like magic."

  "Well, that was not magic my friend. It was simply a pure extract of dragonwart. It bonds with the hide of all dragonets and lizards and turns into a type of glue. It can cause quite a bit of trouble if used correctly. As you have just seen. The second was a pure liqueur, so strong it breaks the bonds of the dragonwart. I have many dragonets who I count as friends and sometimes they are in need of a cleaner that will take off dragonwart." Stain explained this as he dished the stew out into four bowls. The first he offered to Pat saying, "Eat well. Hopefully a lesson has been learned and with it comes wisdom." The rest he passed around the fire.

  For a while the only sounds were the slurping of stew being eaten and the crunch of Tag eating some roots. The fire crackled merrily to itself.

  "Stain? Could you share a story with us?" My father loved stories. Every chance he could he asked for them to be shared. "I would enjoy something to settle the mind."

  "I would be honored to share from my travels Lightfoot." Stain settled back against a tree, he pulled out a pipe and packed it. After lighting it he said, "I think I shall share the story of the salamander's king." A grin crossed his face.

  "There are creatures that exist, Ott, that many never see. Some live beside us and we just never look close enough. Others hide in ways that make it impossible for most to see them, no matter how hard they try. My story is on one such as the first. The salamanders and the king who rules them."

  ***

  Now salamanders are creatures who partake of both fire and water essence. This enables different tribes of salamanders to either reside in wet or hot conditions. The water tribes might be found in swamps, lakes, or even small brooks. They often gather at pools at the base of waterfalls. The fire tribes love to be near sources of heat; be it manmade or natural. They can be found in smithy works, deserts, or fiery pits. They love heat and to dance amongst the flames found in these places.

  In the depths of the deepest wood there once lived a group of salamanders. This group
was made up of a tribe who had equal amounts of fire and water essence. They lived within a cavern that was home to a hot spring. The loved to swim in the hot water, water so hot that a human would be cooked. This tribe lived peacefully for many years. Then one day a young salamander by the name of Histpant decided that his tribe was the greatest of all the salamander tribes. Now Histpant was an arrogant salamander but he was also cunning. He slowly gained followers until most of his tribe followed his leadership. The only ones who failed to fall under his sway were the oldest of the tribe. They counseled Histpant that his arrogance was misplaced and he needed to stop his attempts to lead the younger generation.

  Now Histpant was not inclined to listen to this wisdom, he wanted all the tribes under his control. He slowly built an army of followers. This army set out one day and started to conquer the other tribes. As each tribe fell to Histpant, he called for more warriors to join his ranks. He eventually gained control of most of the salamanders and their strongholds; the deeps and holds. With little or no opposition left he started to strengthen his hold on the tribes. He did this by forcing tribes to interbreed until there only existed one type of salamander; the ones who partook of both natures equally. The deep pools and fiery pits were abandoned. The salamanders slowly started to reduce. Their natures were not meant to live in the conditions they found themselves in; they lived in tight quarters sharing space where once they lived spread out, one tribe to a location.

  Now Histpant had established himself as a tyrant, no one survived his wrath. At the start of his 200th year of rule over the great salamander tribe, a young salamander named Drophant was born. He was a small thing, barely big enough to survive. His parents had three other children and had their hands full with raising them. Drophant was sent to live with some relatives. These relatives were more than a little odd. They seemed to enjoy spending time in water more than most. The young salamander slowly got used to the ways of his odd relations. He learned to enjoy soaking in water that wasn't hot or steamy. Slowly he felt that his internal fire was subsiding, allowing his water nature to gain dominance. He learned to gambol and play with the water in ways that he had never imagined.