“He’s changed to a wolf!” Benen reported as he saw his master pad into the hallway outside his quarters. The wolf licked its chops hungrily. “Our plan doesn’t matter, he doesn’t need magic to kill me as a wolf; the sink is useless!”
“He’s killable as a wolf as much as he is as a man,” Orafin said.
Benen knew he had to calm down and fight for his survival. He needed to buy himself some time to think how he could fight his former master. He used the telekinetic enchantments on the objects in his room to buffet and delay the wolf from coming at him; using the items sparingly to conserve them.
What could he do against a wolf? It was a killing machine, built of muscle and claws. He tried to use the magic of The Cleaver to break the creature’s bones, but his spell had no effect. He looked at the wolf with his magical sight and saw the lines and whorls of magical spells woven into the wolf’s form. Benen made out protections against magic from constellations known for their damaging effects.
The wizard is better prepared than I am!
he thought with desperation.
The wolf advanced on him and he had run out of objects to throw at it. He saw his death coming for him. He wished he had learnt shape-shifting so that he could fight the creature on its own terms and possibly have a chance at winning. As it was, a boy of seventeen could not fight off a giant wolf.
His thoughts lingered on shape-shifting; a thought about that sort of magic was forming in his mind. He remembered his catastrophic attempt at shape-shifting Orafin and imagined doing that to the wolf. He didn’t need to know how to shape-shift properly if he intended to use it as a weapon!
The wizard had not been able to shield himself from shape-shifting, he had needed to shift himself to the wolf form. Benen started the change on the wolf as it crouched, ready to pounce on him.
Immediately, the creature was wracked with pain and started seizing. A strangled cry rose from its throat as its shape changed out of control and with no design.
Benen retrieved one of the knives he had previously thrown at the creature and walked up to the now pathetic mass of shifting flesh, bones and fur. He summoned up all his rage at the way the wizard had treated him and stabbed at the lump.
“This is for taking me away from my family!” he said as he stabbed it.
“This is for the mind games!” he stabbed again.
“This is for your cruelty!” Another stab.
“This is for Orafin!” More stabbing. The mass had stopped writhing and was now inert. Orafin cleared his throat from off to the side and Benen stopped stabbing, the knife falling out of his now limp hands.
“You’ve done it!” Orafin said. “You’ve killed the wizard. You can rest now Benen, calm down. You’re safe.”
Benen could hardly believe it: he had done it and lived. He had killed his master: the cruel bastard was dead. He felt weak and tired; the spell he had improvised to shape-shift the wizard had taken a lot out of him. Trusting to Orafin to watch over him, Benen moved to his bed and collapsed into a deep slumber.
When he awoke, he thought the fight might have been a dream. His room was tidied, all things back in their proper places. He stood and saw that even the body of the wizard was no longer there, no trace was left at all of their battle.
Confused, he called for Orafin, but the rat did not answer.
He made his way through the tower, seeing that even the kitchen was back in order, he began to truly doubt the night before had really happened. Dreading what he would find, he went to the wizard’s study directly.
The wizard was sitting at his desk. Benen froze completely and shook with terror. The wizard looked up, saw him, and for the first time Benen could remember, the wizard smiled a genuine smile of pleasure.
“Benen, I see that you’re up. Please calm down, all is well,” the wizard said.
“
Is
all well?” Benen said slowly, still shaking.
“Yes, you did very well,” said the wizard.
“But I killed you . . .” Benen said.
“No, you did not. You killed a creature I had conjured for your lesson, nothing more.”
“You must be angry with me.”
“Not at all. I too would have done as you did, confronted with a master such as I was.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Sit down, Benen,” the wizard said and motioned to a chair. Benen reluctantly sat.
“When I chose you and made you my apprentice, I began teaching you and treating you with the harshness my master had used on me. In my case, this hardened me and made me into a powerful wizard. In your case, it caused you to shut down and retreat into despair. I needed to teach you, but my methods were not working. That is when I devised Orafin to teach you and set myself up as something for you to overcome. It worked out in the end, as you see. You learnt the magic and passed your apprentice’s gauntlet. You are now a journeyman wizard in your own right Benen.”
This was all too much for Benen.
“But that means Orafin wasn’t real! My friend was just a puppet you used to befriend me and trick me!?”
The wizard held up his hands in a placating gesture.
“Orafin was genuinely me, both the wizard you hated and Orafin, whom you liked, were just parts of me that I sometimes express. Orafin may not have truly been a former apprentice of mine who was plotting rebellion with you, but he was the part of me that resented my own master’s cruelty toward me during my apprenticeship. In time, I hope you will understand.”
Benen did not think that he would.
“What happens now?” he asked.
“Now I deposit you somewhere convenient and you begin your life as a wizard.”
“But I don’t know what to do, where to start,” Benen objected.
“You will find your way,” the wizard said, unconcerned. “Our time together is ended. I will see you when you are ready to attempt your masterpiece.”
“What?”
“When you are ready to try for the rank of master, find me, and I will judge if you are worthy.”
“How will I find you?”
“You are a wizard, Benen, start thinking like one,” the wizard said, his tone chiding.
EPILOGUE: JOURNEYMAN-AT-LARGE
Benen stood in the middle of a field watching the flying tower disappear into the sky.
He did not know where he was, did not know where he was going, but he did know that his life going forward would bear no resemblance to the life he was now leaving behind.
For years he had been a captive of the wizard, his only companion a talking rat. He had spent so much of that time learning magic, obsessively, afraid for his life, that even leaving that behind was difficult.
Orafin had made his life with the wizard bearable; had been his only friend. Now he knew the rat for a fraud — even the wizard’s menace had been a fraud. Benen felt his whole life he had been surrounded by falsehood.
How could he go forward from here? Where would he go?
He knew he could try to find his family’s village and reunite with them, but feared they would not know him. He feared he would be reopening wounds long closed for them. Seeing them was what
he
wanted; it was a selfish desire. He let it go.
He had other options. The wizard had not left him devoid of resources; he had left Benen with a purse of gold coins: one for each year he had been apprenticed to the wizard. This was wealth beyond the imagination of most peasants. He had to face the reality that he was no longer the same as everyday folk; he was a wizard now and his life did not have to consist of sowing and reaping, living simply by the rhythm of the seasons. He could do great things with his power, he could see all the wonders the world offered.
Benen decided to let go of the past. He would travel far and wide and continue learning. He would find the big cities of the world he had heard stories about from travelling peddlers and see if a wizard would be received by kings.
He had a lifetime to see everything; a very, very long lifetime at that.
Benen picked a direction and began walking, pondering shape-shifting as he walked; it would not do for him to scare everyone with his red-coloured self . . . .
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Eric is an IT professional who has always loved reading fiction, especially science-fiction and fantasy. His love of reading is only exceeded by his desire to write as good of fiction as he has read.
Born in Sudbury, Ontario, he spent most of his childhood in Quebec before returning to Ontario in his teens. Now living in Ottawa, Eric shares his life with his wife Kathryn and daughter Zoé -- not to mention a host of pets, including his dog, Thor, and three cats.
Working up to writing his first novel wasn't easy for Eric. Although he had written short fiction over the years, he had never felt he could compose a full-length novel. He attributes his success in breaking through this barrier to the Nanowrimo challenge. Through this he showed himself capable of crafting long-form fiction. His first novel, The Reluctant Messiah, is a product of his participation in the challenge.
He now spends much of his time working on multiple projects. He has re-written two of his short stories and made them available on Smashword for free. You can also find some of his ramblings on his blog, http://chimericwhimsey.com.
Favourite literary quotations:
"Hey, you sass that hoopy Ford Prefect? There's a frood who really knows where his towel is."
-Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
"God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the other players [i.e. everybody], to being involved in an obscure and complex variant of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time."
-- Terry Pratchett, Good Omens
Don’t forget to join the facebook fan page - http://facebook.com/reluctantmessiahbook
Eric welcomes your comments at [email protected]
THE RELUCTANT MESSIAH PREVIEW
Chapter 1:
Bernard
Bernard was nervous about the meeting.
He didn’t know what these people were like, but he’d seen the ad on the bulletin board at a Starbucks and had been curious enough to check it out.
The ad had read:
“The Apocalypse is Nigh!!! The messiah is already among us! We must prepare for the great works he will bring!!! He will break us and remake us!!! Join now and prepare for the rapturous times ahead!!!”
There followed some contact information which Bernard had written down. The ad had used too many exclamation marks to be taken seriously, but it
had
intrigued him.
Things weren’t good at home with Bernard’s parents; they had an approach to parenting that bordered on criminal indifference and he desperately wanted to do something that might get them to pay attention to him.
He had found out this was a tall order through previous attempts. He had tried staying out all night without letting them know where he had been, but the next morning they greeted him casually over breakfast as if nothing had happened. He later realized they hadn’t even noticed he had not been home. Next he had tried absenting himself for longer periods, a weekend here and there, all without eliciting a single raised eyebrow.
Before seeing the ad for the meeting, he had been considering hiding at a friend’s house for a week just to see if either of his parents would even notice his absence.
He knew that going to the meeting was taking his life in his own hands. The nut bars at the meeting might abduct or kill him, but he was a little bit desperate and he didn’t seriously think there was a high probability of danger. The probability was definitely higher than zero, but he didn’t judge it to be significantly so. To him it felt like living on the edge, like doing something risky. He hoped it would be something that might even get his parents to take notice.
It would serve them right if these people turn out to be Satanists and they sacrifice me tonight
, he thought as he got off the bus near the address he’d gotten when he’d called the number from the ad. That call had been strange.
The phone had rung and a woman had answered, but he could barely hear her over the background sounds of young children playing and screaming.
“WHAT?!” the woman pretty much shouted into the phone to be heard above the noise.
“Er, hello?” he’d said hesitantly.
“Speak up! What do you want?” she didn’t seem to have a lot of patience. He hadn’t expected the contact number to be answered by someone so . . . belligerent. He thought he might have dialled the wrong number.
“Um, I might have the wrong number, I’m calling about the,” he hesitated there because he didn’t want to say words like
cult
or
apocalypse
to some random woman. It was one thing to call up the people who had put up the ad, but talking like that to someone else would be embarrassing.
He was beginning to think this was all a ridiculous idea and that he should not have called, when the woman’s tone brightened up.