The Sorceress in Training: A Retelling of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice

by Tapscott, Shari L.

  “I expect to see you in two days,” he tells me, barely acknowledging Gavin. “Do not be late.”

  “Yes, Master Marcus.”

  I wish he’d leave so I could collapse on a bench—or better, into Gavin’s arms. Before he goes, the sorcerer gives me one last look and frowns. “You’re rather pale. You should eat something.”

  “Yes, I—”

  But before I can finish the thought, the aloof man is already out the door. I look at Gavin, perplexed. It comes as no surprise to me that my guard appears to be less than impressed with my new master.

  “I’m sure he’s very busy…”

  Gavin raises a brow, entirely unconvinced. “Yes.”

  Embarrassed by the sorcerer’s behavior, I step outside, glad to have the interview behind me.

  * * *

  We stay the next day with Gavin’s mother and stepfather. Though I am grateful for their hospitality, I’m eager to begin my training. Like Gavin, they seem to be wary of my new mark, though I cannot fathom why—I don’t even know a single spell yet. But I might as well be a princess for the way they’re tiptoeing around me.

  The morning of the day Marcus expects me, I say goodbye to Gavin’s family and thank them for their hospitality. His mother has been nothing but kind and polite, but if I’m not mistaken, I believe she’s glad to be rid of me.

  We’ve been on the road since just after dawn, Gavin on his horse and me on a mare we borrowed from his stepfather. The sun is just starting to make its descent.

  Gavin grows concerned as he follows my last set of instructions. “You’re sure this is the way?”

  “Almost positive.” I peer at the ever-narrowing lane before us. It’s a little overgrown, and the path isn’t even wide enough for a carriage. It does seem to be an odd place for a sorcerer’s estate.

  “There’s nothing down here,” Gavin says for what must be the tenth time. “Nothing but an abandoned cottage.”

  “I’m telling you; these are the directions Marcus gave me.” But the truth is, I’m growing nervous as well.

  Gavin makes a sound in the back of his throat—a scoff mixed with a grunt.

  “I take it you’re familiar with this area as well?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.

  Before Gavin answers, he draws his horse to a stop and whistles low. A cozy manor sits in front of us, nestled in the trees. There’s a formal kitchen garden surrounding it, with several beds filled with spring vegetables rising from the dark, loamy soil.

  The house is gray stone, much like those in Heston, two stories tall, with dark wooden shutters and a shaker roof. Ivy grows up the left side, winding its way around the windows.

  I give Gavin a look. “Only a cottage?”

  He shakes his head, appearing rather befuddled. “This was the cottage.”

  “Oh.” The estate looks like it’s enjoyed a hundred years of loving care. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Amazing,” I breathe. “It’s astounding what a little magic and ingenuity can do.”

  “I don’t like this. You don’t have to stay here if you—”

  The front door opens, cutting him off. Master Marcus walks out, followed by an older woman in a blue dress and a white apron. The sorcerer’s gaze falls on me immediately. “You’re late.”

  “Late?” I stare at him, startled. He said two days—but not a specific time of day. “I’m sorry.”

  Less confident than I was a moment ago, I struggle to pull my leg over the horse without flashing more skin than is socially acceptable. Gavin immediately dismounts, sets his hands on either side of my waist, and helps me down like he did from that tree all those years ago in Father’s orchard.

  And even though it’s the worst time for it, I go warm. I’d like nothing more than to stand here for the foreseeable future, pressed against Gavin’s chest like a damsel in distress. Alas, the moment is over too soon.

  “And who are you?” Marcus asks Gavin rather bluntly.

  “You’ve met,” I say before Gavin can open his mouth. From the look on the guard’s face, I get the distinct impression we’ll all be better off if he stays silent. “Gavin is my personal guard. He accompanied me to the College of Sorcery…” I trail off, hoping he’ll remember without further prompting.

  “Ah,” Marcus says, his eyes still narrowed in Gavin’s direction. After a long moment, he returns his attention to me. “Where are your things?”

  “I…”

  “Well?”

  “I don’t have anything with me.”

  I borrowed a few items from Gavin’s mother while we were in Heston, but I refused to take anything when we left, though she did offer.

  Now I have nothing but my book of sonnets that Gavin rescued. Unfortunately, Marcus is looking less sure about my apprenticeship by the second.

  I wave my hand like it doesn’t matter that all I have is this one dress, which is once again covered in trail dust. “I’ll send for my things later.”

  Marcus frowns, his handsome face displeased, but he finally nods. “Very well.” He then digs into the small coin pouch at his side and produces two coppers. To Gavin, he says, “Thank you for your assistance.”

  Gavin eyes the money, not bothering to hide his disgust. “No thanks necessary. I am her guard. It is my duty.”

  “Very chivalrous of you,” Marcus drawls and shoves the coins back in the pouch. “But Brianne will have no need for a guard while she is in my care. You are dismissed.”

  I gape at Marcus, growing livid. Not only has the man forgotten my name, but now he dares to—

  “With all due respect,” Gavin says with very little respect in his tone, “I will leave only at Lady Brynn’s request.”

  The two men turn to me, waiting. Dread coils in my belly like a cold, slimy snake. I can’t send Gavin away, not ever. At the same time, I must do as my new master says. I have to make this work; otherwise my parents will never forgive me for running away from my duty.

  “Gavin…”

  He stares at me, his face a perfect reserved and professional mask. His eyes, however, beg me to reconsider, to walk away. But how can I now that I’ve been marked? I can’t go to the College on the Mount; I can’t return home. And Gavin hasn’t made any declarations or vows, now has he? I was foolish to think we were on a precipice of change. As usual, my heart got in the way of my head.

  I have no choice. I must see this decision through to completion.

  Gavin watches me for several more moments, looking very much like he’s resisting the urge to drag me onto his horse and run away with me. Finally, he nods. “Take care of yourself, my lady.”

  It’s less a goodbye and more a command.

  My throat closes, and panic builds in my chest. I need more time to think. This is happening too quickly. If only Marcus would give us a minute, instead of standing there, watching our every move.

  “Goodbye, Gavin.” I give him a smile, trying to reassure him that I’ll be fine. Or maybe I’m trying to reassure myself.

  My guard shakes his head, ties my borrowed horse to his, and mounts his mare. We share a long, last look—one that breaks my heart. Pieces of it shatter at my feet, and every one of my girlish dreams dies.

  This is it. A true goodbye.

  What was the point in running away from the College on the Mount when it all ends the same? I lose the only man in my life I’ve ever truly loved.

  I’ll find him when my apprenticeship is complete, I swear to myself. This is temporary, not forever. He’ll go back home, not disappear with the wind.

  But how long will you study under the sorcerer? It could be years before you’re finished. Gavin will be married by then, have children and a wife and a life that doesn’t include you.

  Gavin pauses just before the bend, looking back. Our eyes lock, and my chest constricts so painfully, I can barely breathe. I memorize him—his eyes, his face, the proud way he sits atop his horse.

  “I love you,” I mouth, certain he’ll miss the wo
rds from the distance.

  But to my great surprise, his gaze darkens as if he’s questioning himself, as if he’s wondering if his eyes are playing tricks on him. My heart picks up its pace, and I wonder if I was wrong. Perhaps he could read my lips after all.

  “Come along,” Marcus says, making me glance his way.

  When I look back at the path leading away from the manor, Gavin is gone. And I am alone with the sorcerer.

  I turn to Marcus, telling myself I won’t break in front of him. I force a smile and promise myself I’ll fall apart later, when I am alone.

  “Into the house,” Marcus says, sounding mildly bothered.

  I follow him to the door, my forced smile faltering when I meet the eyes of the woman on the steps. She stares at me, her strangely dark eyes almost unblinking, her lips pursed with displeasure. Wrinkles from hours in the sun are the only thing that soften her face. Even her hair, a light shade of rust, is pulled back into a harsh, no-nonsense bun.

  “Hello,” I say to her, lowering into a respectful curtsy because she is my elder—and because if there’s anyone you want to please, it’s the housekeeper. “I’m Brynn.”

  She gives me a curt nod.

  “She’s mute,” Marcus explains, barely giving the woman a second glance.

  I force a smile again and look pointedly at Marcus before I turn back to the woman and say, “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

  The sorcerer lets out a sigh and crosses his arms. “I told you; she’s mute.”

  “I understand that,” I almost hiss, incredibly embarrassed and too emotional from the day’s events. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “Oh…” He scrunches his brow, thinking it over. Surely, he knows her name. His emerald eyes drift down, just past me. “It’s…Mrs. Stone.”

  I follow his gaze to a small boulder in the garden. “Mrs. Stone?”

  “That’s right.” He jerks his chin toward the door. “Are you going inside? Or do you plan to spend the night on the step?”

  Eying him, I pick up my dusty skirt and walk the few steps into the manor. It’s lovely on the inside, with rich wood floors, art on the walls, and carefully arranged furniture. It’s also filled to the brim with odd knickknacks and clutter.

  Marcus strides in front of me, leading me into a hallway and up a flight of stairs. We end up in a small sitting room, one with upholstered settees and a stone fireplace. I imagine lounging in the winter months and reading by the fire, watching the snow fall on the forest. I long to sit, take in the view from the bench by the window.

  But we don’t linger, and I hurry to keep up with Marcus.

  “This will be your room,” the sorcerer says once he reaches a door at the end of the hall. He opens it and walks in, expecting me to follow. “I believe you’ll have everything you need.”

  “Oh…yes,” I say, barely finding my voice.

  The room is so…small. The bed is tiny. The window is tiny. The desk and chair are tiny too.

  But I’m sure it’s all finer than the simple things I would have received at the College on the Mount, and I even have a little fireplace of my own. There’s also a tub in the corner, one filled with what looks very much like cold water. Perhaps Marcus honestly did expect me sooner?

  “It will suit me nicely,” I assure my new master.

  Looking disappointed about that, he frowns. “The housekeeper serves dinner at seven o’clock sharp. Please be punctual.”

  Unable to keep my mouth shut, I set my hands on my hips and turn to him. “Why don’t you use the woman’s name?”

  He blinks at me, looking rather put out. “I did.”

  “You didn’t.”

  He narrows his eyes, possibly deciding I am more of a nuisance than I’m worth. Then he holds out his hand, palm up, and gestures to the tub in the corner. A cloud of steam suddenly rises from the still water. “You may clean up. I’ll have Mrs.…” he trails off, wincing.

  “Stone?” I supply, while gaping at the steaming bath.

  “Yes, I’ll have her bring a change of clothing for you.”

  “That’s a clever trick.” I dip my hand into the hot water. “When will I learn tha—”

  Before I can finish, Marcus steps into the hall and closes the door behind him. I huff out a breath, shaking my head with confusion, and then look around my new room.

  I set my cherished book of sonnets on the small, short wardrobe and lower myself onto the bed, doubling over to rest my forehead on my legs. Then I mutter to myself, “There we are. All unpacked.”

  9

  I pull the corner screen in front of the tub, spooked to be in this foreign place with these new people.

  New strange people.

  No, they’re not strange, I tell myself sternly. Just…different.

  My mind wanders as I settle into the steaming water. I think of Charity and her baby that I will actually meet someday. Because I’m alone, I give into a few grateful tears when it fully sinks in that I haven’t lost them forever. My mind wanders to my parents and my life growing up—of the many good times but also the dull days stuck in the library while Charity was allowed to play.

  The only person I refuse to think of is Gavin. Every time he creeps into my thoughts—which is more often than I would like—I can barely breathe. Finally, too tired to fight it, I give in to the heartache.

  We didn’t even get a real goodbye.

  My tears run down my cheeks and drip from my chin. Once they’re spent, I submerge myself, letting the bath wash away the evidence of my weakness.

  When I eventually step from the cooling water, I find a change of clothing on my bed, just as Marcus promised. Mrs. Stone must have swept my dirty things away because they’re nowhere to be seen.

  The new dress is a simple, tan-colored muslin with ties in the front and a scooped neckline. I frown, prodding the cheap fabric with my finger. There are undergarments as well, which makes me wonder where in the world they came from. Why does Marcus have women’s underthings just lying around? Who wore them before me? Surely, he didn’t create them out of thin air. Can he do that?

  Deciding I don’t want to ponder such things on an empty stomach, I finish drying myself and then pull on the shift, followed by the dress. It’s more comfortable than it looks—not stiff or scratchy like I assumed. I make quick work of the ties, thankful they’re in the front.

  Because I’m tall, the skirt doesn’t quite fall to the ground. It lands at my ankles instead, and my boots peek out from underneath. Frowning, I step in front of the tall mirror in the corner.

  “You look like a milkmaid,” I say to myself, and my reflection cringes.

  Oh well. I have my apprentice mark—it doesn’t matter what I wear. I think of the gowns in my trunk and all my beautiful garments back home. I wonder if my wardrobe has been emptied and my things given away. The thought settles like a rock in my stomach.

  “Charity,” I whisper to myself, a light dawning in my mind. I cannot tell Father or Mother exactly where I am, but I fully trust my sister. She cried when I left, clung to me even as I assured her I’d be all right. Father was impatient with her, but Mother murmured that it was the baby making her emotional.

  My sister will help me. I know she will. She’ll find a way to send what’s left of my things.

  We can exchange letters.

  Hope warms me, easing some of the loneliness. Yes, this is painful now, but in exchange for the discomfort, I’m keeping my family. I know that even Father, though gruff and distant, will forgive me eventually. I’ve never doubted his love, even when he was determined to send me away.

  There’s a comb on the wardrobe, and I pull it through my hair, cringing every time I hit a knot. As soon as I get my first month’s pay, I’ll buy tropical oil from a local shop. Until then, I’ll have to suffer through the tangles.

  I braid the wet hair back, making my usual plaited crown, and then pin it into place. I stare at my reflection for several long moments, wrinkling my nose. The color of the
dress doesn’t suit me, and it washes out my fair skin, bringing out the red around my eyes and my blotchy cheeks.

  Nothing you can do about it now.

  After giving the laces one last straightening tug, I step out the door and into the hall. Though opulent with its art, dark rugs, and gleaming woodwork, the manor isn’t large. It should be easy enough to find my way to the dining room.

  It’s dark outside now, but there are lit lanterns and candles sprinkled throughout the house. Fleetingly, I wonder if Mrs. Stone walked the halls, lighting each of them, or if Marcus simply summoned the fire with a wave of his hand.

  I occasionally pause to admire paintings and gawk at Marcus’s various collections. Dozens of weird, wondrous things line shelves and nooks, but I don’t have time to study them tonight. I don’t want to be late for dinner on my first night in the manor.

  The dining room is on the ground level, near the kitchen. I spot the long table through an open doorway and pause outside, straightening my dress, hoping the evidence of my tears has finally faded.

  However, when I step inside, pasting a smile on my face, I only find one setting. A note lies in front of it.

  I will be gone for several days. Stay out of my study.

  Marcus left? But I only just arrived.

  Mrs. Stone steps into the dining room, silently placing a plate in front of me. She barely blinks before she leaves, as silent as a wraith. I stare after her, disconcerted.

  After a moment, I call out, “Thank you.” But I’m not certain she hears me.

  The food looks edible, if not a little bland—it’s just a simple serving of unseasoned roast lamb, spring peas from the garden, and a garnish of seeds and dried berries—but I’m not hungry. I choke down as much as I am capable and find my way back to my closet-sized room.

  * * *

  Marcus has a strange obsession with swans. There are dozens of figurines and paintings of the birds scattered about the house. They’re on shelves, tucked in bookcases, and hanging on the walls. Along with the swans, pots filled with powders and silver bottles of tinctures rest in every nook and cranny. He collects books filled with scientific sketches—inventions, weapons, and more—and tiny replicas to join them. I have no idea if they’re Marcus’s work, or if he merely studies them.