The Apprentice

“AVARANTHA!” the old wizard yelled, tracing a circle in front of him with both hands.

The monster stopped in its path suddenly, claws held out in mid-air, frozen in time, the air around it shimmering with powerful magic. Its great bloodshot eyes darted around the room, searching for whatever was holding it back.

Armin marvelled, open mouthed, staring at his master. Perhaps one day he could wield power such as that.

“There we go,” the wizard said, moving his hands gently towards the door. And, like a leaf in the wind, the enormous monster lifted off the floor.

“The door please, Armin,” the wizard said to the apprentice.

Armin ran to the great wooden doors of the hall and flung it open. Outside, the townspeople stood, gathered together. Some screamed. Some ran. Others began to applaud and cheer. And gradually, the wizard carried the monster out of the hall, and down the King’s road, back to his tower. There, he would inspect it carefully. Perhaps he would even teach it the ways of man, to serve, as Armin had seen him do before.

After a mile or two, Armin spoke up.

“Master,” he asked, “when do you think I will be given the Breath of the World as you have?”

The wizard stopped and turned to face him, eyebrows raised.

“Have we not discussed this enough?” he asked.

“We have my Lord,” Armin replied impatiently, “but I am growing old. I have been with you many years, but I am still about as magical as the lowliest peasant.”

The wizard sneered back.

“My young apprentice,” he said, slowly, “only once you have as much faith in the Breath as a child does, then will it come to you. Only once you have given yourself as a servant will you be worthy of it.”

Armin rolled his eyes. The old fool.

The wizard turned his head back to the road and began to walk, the great, floating monster gliding with him. After a minute, Armin spoke again.

“But have I not done enough?” he yelled. He had not meant to yell.

“Have I not given my life to you, these 14 years? Have I not served those below me? I nearly died not one hour ago, but yet you talk to me of service? When master? When is enough?”

He felt his hands shaking, fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. The wizard whipped around to look at him.

“If you remain like this, then you will never be given the Breath!”

And with a furious shout, Armin pushed him.

The wizard fell back. With a great shockwave, the spell collapsed. The monster fell to the floor with a thud. Armin looked from the slathering monster to the wizard and then back again. It stopped, looked around, scrabbled to its feet, and began to run into the forest, smashing through the trees in terror.

Armin said a grateful prayer and looked back towards his master.

He lay completely still. Blood pooled and began to drip from his mouth.

“No!” Armin yelled, falling to the floor next to him.

He bent down and put a hand under the old man's nose. Nothing. Shaking, he leant his head down onto the wizard's chest and listened carefully. He waited, struggling to hear something beyond his own beating heart, desperate for a sound, for a rhythm, for anything. But nothing came.

Armin felt a lump gathering in his throat, and began to shake the corpse of his master. His head lolled back and forth limply.

“Oh no,” he whimpered, “by all above, no.”

That was it. He was done for. He had killed his own master, a monster was loose in the wilds, and now the realm was without its wizard. The lump rose and rose, and then burst. He began to cry. Tears rolled down his face. He wept and wept, gasping for air, torrential streams pouring out, running down his cheeks and spilling onto the body of the slain wizard.

“Master!” he yelled. “I’m sorry master! I never meant to… I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have pushed you. I should have listened!”

Then, a strange feeling in his chest began to rise.

It cut through the sorrow like a knife, and his tears began to slow. He wiped his face clumsily, confused at the sensation. It grew and grew, a tingling, right in his centre.

Then, it began to spread through his entire body, now not a tingling but a crackling, like a log about to explode. The hair on his arms stood on end, and his skin began to sting, as if touched by a nettle.

“What…” he began to say.

Suddenly the feeling overtook him. From a stinging, it rose to a burning, like he had been plunged into a boiling pot. Armin yelled.

And as the yell escaped from his lips, he burst into flame.

The fire consumed him.

All about him, flames licked at his skin. He stumbled to his feet, and began to run. The air was taken from him, and he could barely breathe between the screams, the breath in his lungs stolen by the fire. All was flame, nothing but flame. He ran back and forth, screaming and screaming.

Then, amidst the panic, the word of his master came to him.

“Have faith,” it said, like a whisper in his ear.

“Give yourself.”

Armin forced himself to a stop. The flames still whipped at him, and the pain remained. But he stopped. Intentionally, with great effort, he relaxed. He observed the sensation carefully. And although it remained, it receded into the distance, leaving behind a strange calm. Who was he? He felt like another man, in another world.

Slowly, step by burning step, he walked back to his master’s body.

Then, he knelt down. With his right hand, he reached out, and gently placed it on the wizard’s chest.

“Please,” he whispered.

And in a moment, as if punched by a mighty force, the wizard woke up.