Choices

Joshua Trupo

Choices

Redlow followed his guide. He walked behind her, trying to keep up with the woman’s brisk pace. They slipped between the crowd, slinking down alleys, hopping fences and cutting through stores. Redlow thought he knew this city pretty well but quickly realized he knew nothing compared to the woman walking ahead of him. She never hesitated, always knowing exactly where to go next.

He’d finally received his letter about a week ago. Redlow had been hoping to get an interview with the Deft Fingers, the secretive enchanter’s guild, ever since he was a child. He’d always loved taking things apart and putting them back together; and after doing that for most of his 32 years, Redlow reckoned he was pretty good at it.

His letter had said to meet a guide at an apothecary in Relvington Square. Once he’d arrived, the woman, tall and muscular, had walked up to him and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him along behind her. Without an introduction or even word she beckoned for Redlow to follow, and he knew he had no choice but to play along.

Redlow still didn’t know why the Deft Fingers were so secretive. They were widely known as a guild responsible for training and marketing some of the best enchanters in the entire kingdom. Still, their methodology – and more importantly their knowledge – was kept hidden behind a wall of secrecy and tradition.

That’s all Redlow, or any potential student, really wants from the Deft Fingers. Knowledge. Their trained enchanters can create mystical armors and armaments that far outmatch those made by any of the more common enchanting guilds. The Deft Fingers was a place for masters creating masterworks. Exactly where Redlow wanted to be.

Redlow and his guide finally came to a stop before a home. It was the sort of home you’d expect a small family to stay in, located in a neighborhood of similarly build houses. Redlow was sure they were at the wrong place, yet his guide walked right up to the door and let herself in. Redlow had no choice but to follow.

Redlow let out a nervous sigh as he walked in. The woman shut the door behind Redlow and turned down a hallway. Redlow moved to follow, but he placed a hand on his chest to stop him from proceeding. She gave a gentle push while nodding towards the chairs set up by the door. Redlow nodded and went to take his seat.

He sat there waiting for a couple hours. Redlow was left to fidget during that time. Nobody came to check on him and there was nothing to do, eat or drink. So Redlow thought. He began to ruminate, worrying that he wasn’t good enough to be accepted. That he would never be accepted.

It was in this nervous state that Redlow was finally ushered into the council chambers. He was too anxious to truly appreciate the beauty of the room. He had begun to fall inside himself, spiraling down a path of confusion and despair.

Redlow was finally pulled out of his stupor when someone finally spoke.

“You will tell us a story.” the voice began, belonging to the woman on the far right of the council’s table. It was an old voice. Ancient, really, but the woman didn’t look a day over 50. It croaked with age and had that raspy affect from ages of use.

Redlow had no time to consider her voice. He knew he had to pull himself together and focus on the words of the council.

“It can be any story. The choice is yours. You will tell us a story. It must be one nobody else can tell. One of you and your life. You will tell us a story” The woman never moved, sitting perfectly still while she spoke.

Redlow stood, shocked. Why would he have to tell a story? He was trying to join a guild of enchanters. Shouldn’t they be testing his skill to ensure he was the best? This was lunacy!

The council sat, stolid, staring at Redlow as he tried to reason out the purpose of this task. They sat patiently, giving no expectation of there being some sort of time limit. They just sat, watching.

Redlow opened his mouth to complain. He’d begun to ask why they would request something so odd, so disparate from the work he’d be doing when accepted.

Yet as moved to speak, Redlow felt a memory rush into the light from the depths of his youth. The memory hit him like a punch, and he staggered at the sensation.

Even now, Redlow was moving to utter his complain and ask for clarification. But when he finally spoke, something entirely different came out.

“There was this bull.” The council remained silent, staring intently at Redlow as he worked up the courage to continue speaking.

“Our neighbor growing up, my family and I lived on a small farm, and our neighbor had cows and bulls. We mostly planted potatoes and other root vegetables. We had a couple chickens for eggs. And we got that goat for milk when I was about ten. Outside of that, I’d never had much experience with animals. Especially not ones as large or as angry as our neighbor’s bull.

Redlow paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. It had been a long time since he’d thought of those early days. Quite some time. He had no idea why the memory had come to him now. He’d already begun the telling and had no choice but to sort out his memories and tell the story to its end. He hoped it would be enough.

“And oh boy was he angry” Redlow continued, finally regaining control of his voice, steadying it. He fell into a trancelike state. No longer a man, merely a vessel for conveying his memory to the council before him.

“That bull charged around the fields all day. The other bull, our neighbor had two, it stayed away from this one I’m speaking of. He’d charge our fence without notice or warning. He always stopped before hitting the fence, but it still terrified me. My brother would laugh and laugh as I fell to the ground in fear of the charging bull who would never reach us.”

Redlow locked eyes with each member of the council as he spoke. He remembered tips his uncle had given him about his work as a salesman. While those had been about selling potatoes or crafted tools, the concepts remained. Redlow was a product that he was trying to get the council to buy.

He shifted his shoulders and stood straighter as he continued.

“I looked at that fence and I could not understand. The bull could burst through those waterlogged planks with ease. They were just begging to be knocked down, as far as I was concerned.So I asked the neighbor farmer one day. ‘How come the bulls don’t break down this measly fence?’”

Redlow closed his eyes, immersing himself into the memory. Remembering his fear, tapered by confusion. His curiosity despite the danger. While he may not have noticed it at the time, and even for years to come, Redlow could not deny that this was a formative moment from his youth.

“’This fence?’ said the farmer all playfully. ‘Oh well that’s easy. I put it up when they was young. Real young. They’d tried time and time again to break through, but they were too small at the time to manage it. Now they don’t even try. Could they break it? Without a doubt. But they’re too stupid to realize that, so they never will.’

‘There’s a lesson in that.’ He’d told me. T

It took me some time to figure that out.

You see, I was that bull. I’d always assumed I would live the life I was born to, trapped by the constraints of my youth. I could not leave my home as I aged, and so for quite some time after having grown into a man I still could not fathom leaving the home. Abandoning my mother and brothers. It wasn’t that I was opposed to the idea. The idea did not exist.

Then one day I saw the bull. He was old at this point. Old for a bull. Hardly worth much at all.

The years never dulled his rage. The bull ran and charged and swung about his horns with as much ferocity and power as he could manage.

That’s when I saw it.”

Redlow paused, staring into the past. He was no longer with the council in their chambers. He was that child who had a revelation that turned him into a man. He took a moment, savoring the power and determination that made this the moment he’d been changed for life.

“Our limits are only what we think they are.” Redlow panted softly as he spoke, charged by the energy of the memory.

“I realized that life has choices.” Redlow chuckled as he spoke. “That’s an obvious statement. Isn’t it? Life has choices. But here’s the thing. We don’t always make those choices. Sometimes we toss our choices away and let the world choose for us.

I’ve chosen not to live this way.”

Redlow bent his head respectfully towards all seven members of the council. As he turned to leave, he paused and looked back over his shoulder.

“I’m going to become a master. I will create masterworks. I would love to do it here more than anything I’ve ever wanted. But if you see fit to turn me away, it won’t be the end. I will figure it out.”

Redlow walked out of the chamber and almost collapsed. The tension, the mental control, he hadn’t even noticed just how much his nervousness manifested physically. He took a moment to collect himself, then he stood.

Redlow stood, contemplating, and realized that he had spoken a truth he hadn’t ever noticed before.

He would be a master. He would create masterworks.

Life had given him a choice, and he had chosen to walk this path.

I’ve got this.” Redlow whispered to himself in bed one night, picturing that angry, hateful bull.

And for the first time in a while, maybe ever, Redlow knew he truly meant it.