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

by Tapscott, Shari L.

  Hoping to look more excited than I am, I force a smile and pick up my spoon.

  * * *

  “Impossible,” Marcus says, shaking his head, smiling through his frustration. He runs a hand through his raven hair, disheveling the strands. “You’ve done this before. Admit it.”

  I marvel at the book in front of me, mesmerized by the pages that flip with nothing more than the wave of my fingers. All I had to do is read the spell, and the magic responded.

  Plain and simple. Easy as breathing.

  Marcus takes the seat across from me, and his green eyes lock on mine. “You’ve tricked me, haven’t you? You’re an elf.”

  My eyes flutter down, and my pulse quickens. I force a laugh, though my stomach has fallen to my toes. “No.”

  With a flick of his wrist, a whisper of magic caresses my chin, coaxing me to pull my gaze up.

  “Your inborn skill, your hair, your height.” A swift grin crosses his face, one that’s warm and inviting—not the slightest bit wicked or insane. “Surely, you must be, if only in part.”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” I shrug.

  “Perhaps you’re a changeling,” he says, his eyes bright…almost as if he’s teasing. Though I doubt the sorcerer knows how to jest.

  “I’m just me,” I assure him, lowering my gaze to the next spell though I watch him from the corner of my eye. We’ve been through forty-seven novice spells, and I’ve accomplished them all on the first try.

  Marcus sits back, studying me with an enigmatic expression. “Well, I believe I made a good decision when I chose ‘just you’ as an apprentice.”

  I laugh under my breath. “If I remember our first meeting correctly, I believe I begged you for the position.”

  “You did.”

  With my eyes still on the pages of the book, I bite the inside of my cheek before I work up the courage to ask my next question.

  “What is it?” he finally says.

  “When I first arrived, you wanted nothing to do with me. But now you’re almost friendly.”

  Marcus laughs under his breath, his smile growing crooked. “Your company has proved to be more pleasant than I expected.”

  I look up, waiting for more.

  The sorcerer watches me, his gaze direct and slightly unsettling. “I usually keep to myself.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  He leans across the desk and points to a spell. “Try that one.”

  I skim it quickly, nodding because like the others in this book, it appears harmless. Soon I’m tying a knot in a piece of twine, which isn’t a big feat except that the cord rests in Marcus’s palm all the way across the desk. I hold my hands in the air, using my fingers as I would if the string were right in front of me.

  Marcus grins, shaking his head. When I’m finished, he tosses the bow on the desk. “You are…amazing.”

  But I don’t feel amazing—I feel spooked. It’s too easy.

  The sorcerer leans across the desk, his expression too intent. “I want you to try something for me.” I begin to shake my head, but he holds up a hand. “Humor me.”

  Feeling as if the knot I tied was in my stomach, I sit back and clasp my hands in my lap. “All right.”

  He rises and points a finger at me. “Stay.”

  “I’m not a dog,” I feel the need to point out.

  Laughing, Marcus climbs the stairs that lead to the door and disappears, leaving me alone in his study for the first time since I called a small swarm of locusts. I glance at the desk, looking for the swan figurine, but it’s gone. Slowly, I allow my eyes to fall on the lake painting for the first time today. But it’s the same as before.

  Closing my eyes, I rub my hands over my face.

  Thankfully, only moments later, Marcus jogs down the stairs, holding a handful of long grass.

  I eye it, growing increasingly nervous.

  The sorcerer lays the grass on the desk. “In the middle drawer in the cupboard, on the right-hand side, there’s a small glass bottle of silver shavings. Fetch it for me.”

  “All right.” Half worried a remaining grasshopper is going to leap at me, I gingerly open the drawer and shuffle through the contents. “I don’t see it.”

  Marcus looks over, most of his attention still on arranging his weeds. “Try the one next to it.”

  I open the drawer and freeze. Lined up, all in a row, are at least a dozen carved trolls. The artist, whoever he might be, spent a great deal of attention to detail, and the beasts are startlingly lifelike.

  “What are these?” I breathe, stepping back.

  Frowning, Marcus leaves his project and comes to stand next to me. He looks in the drawer and straightens. Still staring down at the figurines, he says, “They’re game pieces.”

  “Game pieces?” I question, horrified. Marcus has trolls. This isn’t a good sign, at least not for the sorcerer and certainly not for his apprentice.

  Slowly, Marcus turns his head to look down at me. “I haven’t played in many years.” It almost sounds like it’s an apology as much as it is an explanation.

  Pulling my eyes from his, I look back at the hideous pieces. “I can see why. They’re unsettling.”

  He grunts in agreement. “I won once. But even then, I lost.”

  Swallowing, telling myself I’m brave, I slowly shut the drawer. “Perhaps you should discard them.”

  Marcus meets my eyes. “Do you think I should?”

  I give him a halfhearted shrug. What do I really think? I think I should have run when I had the chance.

  Looking at me, he says, “Tell me what you want me to do with them, Brynn.”

  “It seems like a morbid game,” I say quietly. “Perhaps you should burn the pieces.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” Then he opens another drawer, rummages through the contents, and pulls out his small bottle of shaved silver and sets it in my hand. “Take a few slivers and place them in your palm. Then choose a blade of grass.”

  I do as he asks, wishing he weren’t watching me quite so intently.

  “Now close your palm around them both, close your eyes, and pour your magic into them.”

  Though I was just shutting my eyes, I open them now. “Pour my magic? How do I do that? Isn’t there a spell to read?”

  Marcus shakes his head. “No spell. Just close your eyes and picture the blade of grass turning into a thread of silver.”

  And suddenly, I know what he’s asking.

  “I’m not an elf,” I whisper. “I can’t make gold.”

  “I’m not asking you to make gold. I want to see if you can make silver, like the elves of the mountains.”

  I stare at him for several moments, and he stares right back, his expression patient and eager.

  Finally, just to show him it’s not possible, I close my eyes and imagine pulling magic from the air and coaxing it into my hands.

  Marcus inhales sharply, and my eyes fly open. A silver-white glow encases my clasped palms. It fades after a moment, and I stare at Marcus with wide eyes. What just happened?

  “Open your hands,” Marcus instructs, leaning forward.

  Slowly, I pull my hands apart, revealing…a few flecks of silver and a blade of green grass.

  Marcus huffs out a disappointed breath and then sits back. “Well, now we have our answer to that. I’m afraid you’re human.”

  “Considering my parents are human as well, I must tell you it doesn’t come as that much of a surprise.”

  Marcus stands, heading for the door once more. As he passes, he presses his palm to my shoulder. “But we had to try, didn’t we?”

  “I suppose,” I murmur under my breath, my mind back on the trolls. I follow the sorcerer out, frowning when I see how late it’s become. The daylight is fading beyond the windows.

  I’ll have to wait until morning, but I must speak with Rune soon.

  23

  I turn the corner, hanging back when I spot Gavin at the forge. He stands in front of an anvil with a stick of iron in his glove-c
overed hand. The end of the rod glows red-hot. He positions it, rolling it until he’s satisfied with its placement, and then lifts a wicked-looking hammer in his other hand. When the two metals connect, a clang rings through the air. I watch, bemused, as my guard-turned-blacksmith shapes the piece.

  But mostly, I admire the extra muscle Gavin has put on since returning to his home village. He was always strong, but the hard, manual labor hasn’t hurt.

  It’s a warm day, just on the edge of hot. Gavin wipes his brow with his arm, leaving a smudge of black across his temple. In no way should he be enticing when he’s all hot and sweaty and filthy.

  I nibble my bottom lip, fighting back a smile. “What are you making, blacksmith?”

  He looks up, surprised to see me. Apparently pleased, he gives me a slow, closed-mouth smile—just wicked enough to bring back memories of our one, earth-shattering kiss. My knees soften, but I stand straighter, matching his smile with one of my own.

  “A short sword.” He turns again to his project, working the metal while it’s still hot.

  I lean against the half-wall, patiently waiting for him to finish. As soon as he’s satisfied with his progress, he sets his project aside, walks to a bucket near the back of the forge and washes his hands.

  “Tell me, is that water clean?” I tease.

  He glances at me over his shoulder. “Would you prefer I use an animal trough?”

  My answering laugh dies as Gavin yanks both tunic and shirt over his head in one fell swoop, leans over, and splashes water over his face and hair. I gape at him, my eyes moving over his toned back, watching the water roll down his shoulders.

  As soon as he turns, I snap my mouth shut, but not before I spot his smirk. He tosses the sooty tunic away before he pulls the loose, linen shirt over his head and walks toward me.

  “I’m going that way,” I say after I clear my throat, nodding toward the stable.

  “What a coincidence.” He runs his hand through his hair, straightening the short, drenched strands. “So was I.”

  Our eyes hold for several heavy seconds before he gestures for me to go on ahead. We’re halfway there, to the point where the forest encroaches on the trail, when I wrap my hand around his wrist and pull him into the trees.

  When we’re safe in the cover of spruce and pine, Gavin tugs me back and kisses me without warning. I grasp hold of his shoulders to keep my balance and laugh when he lets me go.

  “Do you actually need to go to the stable?” he asks in a deep voice that makes me want to move in for more.

  “No,” I whisper, draping my arms around his neck, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him again.

  We’ve been careful—so careful—but I worry that we’re going to be caught. If Marcus finds out that I’ve directly disobeyed him, he’ll dismiss me, and then I won’t be able to help Rune.

  Just the thought reminds me of why I came to the village this morning. I told Marcus it was for more tea, but there was plenty in the cupboard before I dumped it in the woods just beyond the house.

  Though I could happily stay here, hidden in the trees with Gavin all day, I pull back. I glance around just to reassure myself we’re still alone, and then say quietly, “I discovered something yesterday in Marcus’s study.”

  Instantly on guard, pleasure forgotten, Gavin stands taller and nods for me to continue.

  “A dozen wooden troll figurines, all frighteningly lifelike. They were in a drawer.”

  Gavin frowns. “That is odd, but not exactly incriminating.”

  “No, it’s not.” I cross my arms, remembering last night’s exchange. “I asked him what they were for. He said they were pieces in a game he played years ago. He was cryptic about it.” I huff out a breath. “I’ll be honest. The entire exchange was disconcerting.”

  “But there’s still no sign of the girl?”

  I shake my head. “No saved loved notes, no apparent tokens of affection.”

  “I don’t know, Brynn. I know you’d like to believe Rune, but he can’t even prove he’s an elf.”

  “Because he lost his magic when he crossed into the faerie realm,” I point out, though I’m more repeating Rune’s story than arguing.

  Gavin stares into the trees, thinking. “All that aside, Marcus continues to treat you well?”

  I hesitate, wondering if I should admit how well Marcus is treating me. I swear there are times, when he’s especially impressed with how quickly I’m learning, that he looks at me with something more than casual affection. But if I tell Gavin, it will only worry him and possibly cause him to draw away.

  I can’t have that—I simply can’t. Even sneaking around, hiding our relationship, I’ve never been happier in my life.

  “Yes. I think he’s grown used to me, and he’s been courteous. Friendly even.”

  Gavin looks back. “How friendly?”

  Wincing, I shrug, unsure how to answer.

  Worry clouds his face. “Brynn…”

  “I know. I’m being careful—I promise.”

  He steps closer, setting his hands on my shoulders. “If Rune’s story is true, the last thing you need is Marcus falling for you.”

  What am I supposed to say? Of course I know that.

  “We need to talk to Rune. See if there’s anything else he can possibly tell me.”

  “All right.” Gavin nods back to the path. “You leave first. I’ll follow shortly after.”

  I shake my head, my heart aching. “I hate this.”

  Gavin gives me a tight smile. “It’s just the way it is.”

  Before I go, I point at him. “For now.”

  He looks like he’s going to argue, but I hold up my hand, refusing to give him the chance. I will be with Gavin. I love him. And whether he likes it or not, he loves me. We certainly haven’t gotten this far just to give up. I just have to find a way to convince him it can work.

  But how can it work?

  And then it hits me.

  All I need to do is follow this through, stay under Marcus’s tutelage, and become a sorceress. I’ve been looking at it all wrong.

  If I can graduate from this apprenticeship, earn my sorcerer’s mark, then the world is mine—and nothing and no one will be able to tell me who I can love. A sorceress isn’t hindered by titles—she’s above them.

  A sorceress can marry whomever she wants, and if someone tries to tell her otherwise, she can turn them into a frog.

  That’s more witch territory.

  I smile to myself as I walk the path, remembering Gavin’s teasing. And he’s probably right. But the rest of the world doesn’t need to know that.

  But if I do this, if I make this decision, then I must stop nosing around in Marcus’s business. I need to apply myself to my studies, become the apprentice I promised Marcus I would be.

  Rune has the uncanny ability of knowing when I’m looking for him, and as usual, he’s waiting for me outside the inn.

  “How do you do that?” I quietly demand when he joins me in the street.

  “Do what?” he asks, his mood lighter than before.

  “You know, so don’t pretend you don’t.” I grip the basket on my arm, wishing we weren’t about to have this conversation.

  But my mind is made up. I will do anything I can—anything at all—to be with Gavin. And if that means I must disappoint Rune, then so be it.

  “Listen,” I say, preparing the speech in my head. “It’s been a week, and I haven’t found anything.”

  Except for the strange troll figurines.

  Pushing the thought aside, I continue, “I believe you—I do. But maybe your Eva has moved on? Perhaps Marcus did take her, but he let her go? We have no reason to believe he’s holding her hostage now.”

  Rune shakes his head, refusing to see reason. “He is.”

  “But there’s no evidence!” I hiss. “Nothing.”

  I glance back and find Gavin coming up behind us. We keep walking, staying on the street, heading for the forest on the other side of the village.

>   “All that proves is that he’s careful,” Rune argues.

  I start to shake my head. “That’s not—”

  Rune stops suddenly, and his golden eyes lock on mine. “You’ll have to follow him the next time he leaves, see if you can find the rift between our two realms.”

  Crossing my arms, I narrow my eyes. “You want me to follow Marcus?”

  “Just until you find the gateway. I don’t want you to go through—it would be nearly impossible to find your way back without a tether. It took me three years…” He trails off, thinking awfully hard.

  “I can’t do it, Rune. I’m sorry. I truly, truly am. But I can’t risk Marcus’s anger for something you cannot prove.”

  Suddenly, the elf tugs me forward, pulling me toward the forest. We quicken our pace, but once we reach the safety of the trees, I yank my arm back.

  Gavin joins us soon after, glaring at Rune, about to tell him off. Before he has the chance, I turn to the elf. “What is it?”

  Growing excited, Rune grins, his eyes bright with an epiphany. “Marcus gave Eva a necklace—it was her tether.”

  “What’s a tether?” Gavin demands.

  “It’s a physical link between the worlds,” Rune explains. “There are always two of them—two rings, two keys, two necklaces. If you have a tether on the other side, no matter what gateway you cross through, you’ll end up in the entrance closest to it. Otherwise, it’s completely sporadic. There’s no way to know where the rift will spit you out, and believe me when I say the faerie realm isn’t a place you want to wander.”

  “All right…”

  “Eva’s necklace was gold with rubies and diamonds—ostentatious. Memorable. I should have told you sooner—I didn’t think about it until now. Have you seen it? Does he have it in the manor somewhere?”

  My stomach drops, and I avoid direct eye contact. “Diamonds and rubies?”

  “You have seen it,” he says at an excited whisper.

  I shake my head, refusing to believe what my brain is telling me.

  “You have.” The elf takes a step closer but shifts back when Gavin gives him a warning look.

  Clasping my hands in front of me, I glare at him. “Not unless your Eva is a bird.”