The Apprentice Part II

The original story was written for the Mathew Fromm High fantasy — Flash Fiction challenge. Catch up with the first chapter here. I felt this story could go much further, and after reading some of the comments, some of the readers felt the same in a roundabout way. Well, it's time to find out what happens to Draden. Please enjoy!

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Bralfir is saddened by the mis-guided choices of Draden. Seven long years were invested in mentoring the academics of a promising fledgling. He's watched him grow from a boy into a man and feels greatly responsible for his well-being. But Draden revealed a side not easily forgiven. The assembly has barred him from any activity within the apprentice conservatory.

Bralfir calls upon Pygmid, a small, hybrid animal likened to an orc-fairy, classified to the order of Santrians. They are known for their loyalty and possess unparalleled tracking skills. He sends the pint-sized, playful one to locate Draden.

It takes Pygmid all but a sliver of the sundial to find him squatting by a tranquil stream, drinking from it and scrubbing his soiled smock against the bedrock. Pygmid idolizes Draden and doesn't fully understand the trouble he's caused. He is overjoyed to see him.

"Pygmid, my friend! What brings you to me! Wait! Do you come alone?"

Draden becomes paranoid. He draws his sword and begins scanning the surrounding brush. Pygmid doesn't speak but understands the native tongue. He answers only to yes and no questions.

"I'll ask you again, do you come alone?"

Pygmid smiles and nods yes. Draden draws back his defenses and returns the sword.

"Was it Bralfir who sent you?"

He anxiously nods yes as he lands on a large, oak stump beside Draden; their smiles come naturally. Draden closes the gap between them and pets his head which triggers the Santrian's wings to flitter through many bright hues, signifying love.

"Does Bralfir wish of my return?"

Pygmid frowns and shakes his head no. The flashy wings return to normal.

"Blast it! Then what the devil does he want? Our minds have clashed! There are no speaking terms between us! None of them have faith in me and treat me as if I'm...I'm some sort of weak child. Although my actions were harsh, I feel justified. The Emerald Chalice is not meant to be shared! Do you agree with me, my friend?"

Pygmid makes a long face and shakes his head no.

"Dratz! what does a mute Santrian know anyway... Would you please do me a favor, kind one? I promise you a hoard of lavender upon your return!"

Pygmid springs into the air in gleeful agreement. He adores lavender and would consume it all day if it were up to him. He clumsily lands on Draden's shoulder and pulls at his hair to regain balance.

"Easy there, little one... All you must do is fetch me the book of Wedowin. I hid it behind a loose plank in the walls of my chambers. Please bring it to me at once. You must do this in secret! The elders are a bit cranky; they don't concur... do you understand?

Pygmid hastily nods yes. He hovers in place and reaches in a satchel attached to his hip to retrieve a folded scroll Bralfir gave him. He hands it to Draden. Full of excitement for his luscious reward, he begins his flight back to the Tortian fortress in the heart of Callista.

Draden curiously unfolds the scroll. It's a message from Bralfir. He reacts with a dismissive smirk but is eager to read it.

My Son, your actions are not acceptable. I blame myself for not acknowledging your need to be heard and understood. I forgive you. The assembly wishes punishment for your behavior. My words in your honor remain a topic of dispute. But! I deliver you great news! In the days since your departure, I have gained another word in the sequence. I long for you to redeem yourself by continuing your work with the Chalice. If you can agree that one man shall not use its' power for selfish purposes, the assembly will strongly consider reinstating your credentials. For my loyalty, I will give you that word. Learn how to speak it correctly first before you combine it with the others. Go forth with your lessons, my son. We shall meet soon. ***********************Flezeric-Eeclecks***********************

Draden studies the word and begins to sound it out. After a few moments, he is confident with his pronunciation. He shouts the words...

"Flezeric-Eeclecks!"

His feet become cemented in the dirt. He tries to manually lift them with his hands to no avail. Fog seeps upward from the ground in thin lines within his immediate vicinity. They solidify into a bronze, doorless cage that surrounds him. Once he is enclosed behind the bars, his feet become unglued. It was a mendacious trick.

Check out part III here

Thank you for stopping by 🤩.