The Wandering Apprentice
By
Matthew D. Mitchell
A Life of Magic: Book one
A beginning of things
Silence is not usually true silence. There is normally some noise; the wind, a small creature moving through the brush, or the distant sounds of larger creatures. But today, there seemed to be true silence as I approached my home.
"Smoke!" cried Pat. "Up ahead, coming from the clearing."
Smoke? Near home? Dad would not have started a fire; it was not time for dinner, it was too warm, any number of reasons ran through my head.
"Hurry Pat! See what is wrong!" I called. "See if my dad is ok. I will be there as soon as I can!"
I hurried down the path as Pat flew off overhead, his wings filling the silence. Another two miles separated me from home. I might be able to cover that distance in only ten minutes, but would arrive out of breath. Choosing to pace myself, I covered the same distance in just over twenty minutes. I slowed down as I crossed the creek at the base of our hill. Not far now.
I could smell the smoke now. It had a sour smell, like moss burned while still damp. No smoke rose from the clearing, but the smell lay in the air.
"Ott! Your dad is in the house, but someone else has been here. The tracks are everywhere. Horses, mules, even a pack-shell. Men, plenty of them by the look of it." called Pat from the edge of the clearing. He did not dare come closer, at just under two stones, he would not risk being caught by something bigger than him. "I will keep watch, just check on Lightfoot!"
"DAD! Are you in here? Dad?" The inside of the home we shared was in shadows, not even the light from the afternoon sun making it's way inside. I stumbled over something; my chair. Something had thrown all our possessions around, even the food was everywhere.
"Dad! What happened?" a soft whisper left my lips.
"Ott. Over here son." a rough voice called from beside the fireplace. "Are you ok? Did they track you down?"
"What do you mean, track me down? I came as soon as Pat smelled the smoke from the clearing." I kneeled by my father and realized why he had not answered me at first. His whole body seemed twisted, like a rope caught in the wind. "Dad! What? Who? How?" Questions ran out of my mouth.
"Ott. You have to run. I am in bad shape son. Go to the village, go to your aunt's house. Tell her what happened." Breath seemed to wheeze out of my dad's mouth. "I am glad you were not here, at least you are safe."
"Not quite Lightfoot!" A barrel of a man crowded into doorway. "I thought I would stay around to find out what happened to the brat. But now that he is here, I will take care of him." A crooked, evil smile met my tear-streaked face.
Suddenly a halo of light seemed to outline the beast at my door, who looked surprised. An explosion rocked the clearing. His club, which I had only now noticed, flew from his hand and towards my head.
Figures, only I would die by accidental clubbing.
The previous day...
The morning had been good, I had found some of the plants dad told me to find. My only problem was he also wanted me to travel to the headwaters of our little creek. I do not know why, my dad was just like that. He always seemed to be teaching me no matter what else was going on. I had traveled most of the day and the little creek that flowed past our hill was the same size. Dad had said that the creek would get smaller and smaller till I found a pool that was the start of the creek.
A flash of light was the only warning I had. Suddenly rain poured down with ferocity into the trees.
"Rain is cold!", I despaired. I am not dressed for rain.
I bet dad knew it would rain today. He always tries to make my days in the forest a learning experience.
Ok, not much choice. I am too far from home to make it before nightfall, so I have to find shelter. There was a waterfall a little while back. My father liked to joke that caves grew near waterfalls. He always passed knowledge on with humor. It caused the memory to keep the knowledge better, fresher. Sometimes the humor was at my expense. I didn't always like that but most of the time that was the knowledge he wanted me to remember the most. Like the time he pointed out that a big cat's scat was fresh and smelled, just like I did on a hot day. That bit of information meant that the cat was close, maybe only an hour away.
So, time to find a cave. My bow would not work in the rain so I took the string off and put the bow in the quiver on my back. The pack only held enough food for the day, which meant I needed to supplement what I had while back-tracking to the waterfall. Luckily father had spent most of my childhood teaching me about the woods that we called home. I knew the plants, animals, and woods that surrounded me every day.
"Pat, we need to go. I will find us a cave to spend the night." I called, looking into the trees.
"You mean I will find the cave while you stumble around scaring off the game." mocked the dragonet from the branches. "I am the one with the stone-sense you know. All you could do is look, I will feel the cave in my gut." A smile that would scare most animals was flashed. Fangs a finger long flashed in a burst of lightning. A sparkle of wet scale shimmered as Pat moved through the trees.
"Let us get moving, my tail is starting to shiver!" Pat cried.
***
"Well, your father would be proud!" exclaimed the stuffed dragonet as he gnawed on a bone. "A stoat and a handful of fish with only your wits to help you. Of course the fact that the stoat was distracted by that nest did not hurt." A slight hiss-laugh came from the far side of the cave.
I threw another bone to my friend. "Must I remind you, mister worm, it was I who killed, skinned, and gutted the stoat with which you mock me? Plus, I thought I could use his hide for a new pouch since my old one is wearing thin."
Rotating the fish on a stick, I thought of my life. I had called the woods home since before I could remember. Father had moved to our small home shortly after taking a wife. Her family had been basket weavers and he was a Lord's huntsman. The Lord allowed father to leave his service after saving the heir. The land and home came as a bonus from the Lord. My mother brought the skill for making baskets and her dowry included the tools of her family's trade. They had planned on making a new life in these woods, harvesting from the woods and trading at the local village. A simple life. Their second fall found them happy and expecting a winter's child. My mother never saw the next spring. At my birth father served as mid-wife and exclaimed that Ott had come into the world like an otter, slick and squirmy. Mother used her last moment to name me, Otter Willow Lightfoot, after how I entered the world, mother's favorite tree for baskets, and father's surname. She was buried in the little garden that she had worked so hard to nurture.
Since my mother's death I had learned everything that father knew about the woods. The knowledge of basket weaving I learned the few times one of my mother's relations had visited. Once a cousin, twice her sister, and even my grandfather had made the effort to travel from villages to make sure that I learned mother's trade. I have felt at times that everyone wanted to teach me something, but it seemed as if no one cared what I wanted to learn. I loved to learn new things, but for once I would love to learn something that I wanted to learn.
What things? I had no idea. But I knew that there had to be something I would actually want to learn. Not that I did not enjoy learning from everyone, but it was what they wanted me to learn. Just once I wanted to decide what to learn.
The smell of singed fish brought me back to my surroundings. "Fish is burning." snickered Pat. "Good thing I dislike fish. Too many small bones. I would rather have something that had more meat and less bone." Pat looked pointedly at my portion of stoat. Grinning, I tossed it over. I pulled the fish away from the fire and resigned myself to slightly burn
t fish for dinner. At least the fish were good sized, they should be plenty along with the roots, mushrooms, and berries. I should be fine. By tomorrow I would be home and would be able to eat from the stores we had accumulated throughout the spring and summer.
From across the fire, Pat started talking again. "I would love to know what caused you to forget such a an important thing as food. Normally you do not let your food even hit the table before trying to inhaling it whole. I think that might explain the sudden gain of weight. I think there is a slight bulge around your middle. You might try to loosen your pants, then you might be able to keep up without sounding like a smith's bellows."
Indignant I replied, "I do not sound like a bellows. I just got short of breath. It's not my fault that you move faster than me. I just do not have wings like you my friend."
"Well I was made better than you my two-legged friend. Wings, claws, and even a few little tricks that keep other creatures from trying to make me a snack. Plus I would give them an upset stomach. Too much sulfur in my system." Pat stated haughtily.
I found that fact intensely funny. "No wonder you cannot catch anything with a decent sense of smell. They can smell you from miles away. Good thing you have a tame human to help catch your food for you. Otherwise you might wither away to nothing but scales and those claws you brag about all the time."
***
"Wake up bear bait!" Pat hissed.
"Stop that, it tickles my ear. Keep that tongue out of it or I will put a knot in your tail." I complained. I hate mornings. Especially if I had to sleep in a cold dark cave. "Why are you always so cheerful in the morning?"
"It means I can stretch out on a rock and warm my hollow bones. Plus, would you rather not wake up? That kind of thinking is really depressing. So, wake up and get us something to eat while I find me a suitable rock for toasting my scaly hide." Pat was evidently in a good mood today. Must have been the stoat. Pat always seemed happier after getting some organs in his belly.
"Ok, I will get up but I refuse to feed you. You will get fat and lazy. Well, fatter and lazier. If you want to eat, you have to help catch food." I knew that Pat hated to kill but would if that was the only way to get food. I also knew that I could shoot some squirrels with my bow. As I left the cave I looked around.
A waterfall 30 hands high lay to my left. It splashed down on a pile of rocks that had fallen with the water. A small pool, about 40 hands wide caught the water. While the pool did not seem too big, it was deep. Almost a hundred hands to the bottom. Why a deep pool existed out here, I had no idea. But I was thankful that there were plenty of fish of good size. I must remember to come out here more often. With a little work the cave would be a good place to spend a night during a long trip. Maybe even to use as a little hunting cabin.
"Stop mooning and let us find some grub." Pat called. He was up on the ridge above the waterfall. He tended to stay high, it kept him out of most predators reach, even the two-legged kind.
I picked up my gear and started around the pool. I was headed for a game trail that led right to the edge of the pool. It was obviously a local drinking spot.
"Look up ahead on the game trail and see if any squirrels have woken up. We might have more than mushrooms and tubers for breakfast." I called over my shoulder. We traveled this way lots of times. Pat flying ahead of me and me telling him what I wanted to find. This system worked great for finding food, but not so well for anything else. If he could not eat it, Pat rarely cared. He did help me find materials, but I think that was mainly from boredom.
The sound of a badger moving towards his tunnel rustled not far from the path. He was probably one of the visitors I heard at the pond late last night. Badgers were considered noble creatures, bringing good luck with them. Any good forester knew not to hunt badgers. It was considered bad luck. Plus some said a badger was tough as leather to eat.
I looked up the path and hoped that I found some food before too long. My stomach was waking up and letting me know that the fish was too long past. A group of yellow horns caught my eye. Well, at least I will have something to put in my stomach, if only some mushrooms. A little while later I noticed some acorns that the animals had missed. This is how I traveled for the first hour. A little nibble of mushroom here, some late berries there, even some fresh calamint. Some of the calamint went into my bag, wrapped in a soft cloth. I chewed a couple of the leaves. The mint cleared the last of the flavors from my mouth.
"So, any squirrels yet?" I called out to Pat.
"There is a group of them just a chattering away about a hundred feet up the trail. I would like to have at least two. If you could." Pat replied with hunger in his voice.
"Well, let us see if I can get three. I could use something a little hardier." I chuckled as I put the string on the bow.
About thirty minutes later, a small fire proceeded to cook four squirrels.
"I cannot believe that last one just sat there and scolded you while you shot him. You should have plenty of small pouches when you get done with all of those hides." Pat murmured. He stared at the meat, not really listening for a response.
He had a point though. If I continued catching the smaller furred animals I could make lots of small pouches. Maybe I could make one large pouch or even a coat. I needed to talk to dad, he would know what I would need to make. The pouches would be easiest, but I already had some other pouches at home. A coat would be nice, although I think that the stoat hide would make a better pouch than to use it for a coat.
"How about a squirrel coat?" I asked Pat. "If I get enough I would have plenty of hides. I could put the fur on the inside and have a good winter coat."
I realized that I could ask Pat anything and not get an answer. His snout was so close to the meat the flames were moving around from his breath.
"Do not burn yourself lizard."
"Hmm, dragonets never burn Ott. You know that. I think the food is done. Shall we eat?" Pat replied distractedly.
The meat settled deep in my stomach and Pat was rounder than a nut. His belly hung down until it was rubbing the grass.
"I think I will rest a bit. Take some sun" Pat groaned.
"All right, I'm going on up the trail. If I make good time I'll be home in an hour. Catch up before then or I'll leave the door open for you." I considered my friend. He really needed to stop stuffing himself, he had a trained human to feed him. As I walked up the trail I heard Pat start to snore, he must have found a warm rock high enough to feel safe.
About thirty minutes later, I had just decided that Pat must have been more tired than I thought when he landed in the tree above me.
Smirking I asked, "Good nap lazy lizard? I almost thought I would beat you home."
"Something's wrong Ott. Listen!" Pat hissed.
I listened, "I do not hear anything Pat."
"Smoke!" cried Pat. "Up ahead, coming from the clearing."
Little did I know that moment would change both our lives.
***
The first thing I noticed was that sound had returned.
"What was the point of that man's attack?" a stranger's voice questioned. "Why did he threaten you Lightfoot?"
"I have no idea! He kept asking when Ott would return and what was my secret. Stain, please believe me, I just do not know." My father's voice was weary.
The sound of his voice pulled my memory back to what had happened. The man, the club, my head. Was I dead?
"Ugh!" I lifted my head. Definitely not dead. No way I could hurt this bad and be dead.
"Ott? Are you awake boy?" The stranger's voice asked. "I could have sworn I heard a groan."
"Otter! Talk to me son! Are you OK?" My father's voice sounded panicky.
"Not so loud dad. I can hear you just fine." I sat up and looked around. I was laying on my cot. The cabin had been straightened up, all the broken items removed. It gave my home an almost un-lived look. "Dad, are you OK? I thought you were almost dead!"
He stood beside my bed and looked like he'd had the wint
er sickness, but everything seemed to be in the right place. The memory of him broken, twisted on the floor flashed through my mind. Not possible, cried part of me. I didn't care if it was possible or not, my father looked great.
In shock I jumped up, "Dad! You're OKAY! I saw you! Your arms and legs were..."
"Just a mistake young Ott, your father was simply hurt. Knocked around, if you will. Now you, my young friend, had a nasty ring to your bell. I need to make sure you are fine before you go harrying off on more adventures." A tall man approached my cot. I sat heavily, dizzy from standing too fast. "Ah, dizzy I see. That happens many times when struck in the head. The fast movement causes it. Move slow Ott and you'll keep from passing out."
I could now focus and noticed something odd about this stranger, his hands and forearms seemed to disappear in the shadows of the cabin. Was this some form of disease? I flinched away.
"Keen eyesight I see." The man smiled. "Do not worry, it is nothing but a result of my trade I'm afraid." He held up his arms to the light. Greens, blues, and other colors I had never seen seemed to flow along the man's skin. "Maybe introductions are in order before anything else. My name is Stain McCray. I'm a wandering herbman. The stains for which I'm named are a result of working with plants and substances over a long lifetime." he stated this simply while gesturing to his own hands. "If you think my skin is interesting, you should see the hands of a dyer. I swear they figure out ways to make color's no person has ever seen. One woman I know has a purple finger and a black thumb." He chuckled, like he had told a private joke.
"So, young Ott, I need to check your head to see how it's healing. That club was ironwood and I wonder which is harder, it or your head." I allowed him to run his fingers over my head, even when it hurt a little. "Ah, there's the tender spot. Well, that speaks both well and bad for your head. It's intact, that's the good, but it's harder than ironwood, which means you are stubborn."
The Wandering Apprentice Page 1
