The Wizard's Apprentice (The Apprentice) (10 page)

It was now the fourth day since Brock's disappearance. Zebulon felt there had to be someone who had seen something on the day Brock left. Kotonia was not like the other mining village where there was continual activity
.
These villagers mostly believed in returning  to their homes at a reasonable hour. There were a few places such as the small inn on the outskirts of the village where some of the rougher inhabitants and strangers would meet. After Zebulon familiarised himself more with the town, he made his focus of enquiries at this particular inn, even though Uri was quite sure that Brock would not have ventured over that part of town.

“He may do so if he was enticed. Something had unsettled him after his last trip to Kotonia. I should have been more sensitive to his troubles and got him to confide his concerns,” said Zebulon.

“Don't do anything without me,” said the faithful Uri. He could see his friend was getting weary and could make a mistake, something he couldn't afford when dealing with someone as cunning as Mustafa.

When Zebulon entered the small inn his commanding presence seemed to fill the entire room. All conversation halted and all eyes turned to look at him.

“I know many of you have already been asked concerning this matter, but I want each of you to consider carefully if you can recall anything further in connection with the disappearance of a young elf from this village. If any harm has come to him or will come to him because of  neglect to your duty, then I will deal with the offender severely.” Zebulon's deep voice rang out and there was not one who failed to hear his every word.

Suddenly a croaky voice came from the back of the room. It belonged to an old man who was frequently ignored, due to his usual drunken state.

“Some mornings ago, not sure which one... it was early...and I saw this young fellow. Tall he was, and strong looking. Ginger hair and freckles. He was waiting around outside with a horse. He was joined by a young elf and they rode off into the hills.”

Zebulon recognised the description of the young man as the one whom he had seen at the farm. That would explain maybe why Brock would leave with him, although what manner of persuasion he had used, Zebulon could not fathom.

“Show me the direction they took,” Zebulon instructed the man.

Zebulon had been scrying for Brock since his disappearance with no success. He regretted he had not been a better student of this discipline. Had the pendant been complete he would have had greater aid.

Although he thrust all concern away and stilled his mind, he could not find any evidence of the presence of Brock or Mustafa. He felt sure that if he had a direction to look, a beginning point, he would be more successful.

It was the fifth day of Brock's capture and for the young elf, fear had given over to despair. Orville and his companions were becoming increasingly agitated because there was not enough excitement for them in the mountain hut. They began to punch Brock around for amusement even though he was already black and blue from multiple bruises. Orville had encouraged this activity because the others were threatening to leave, and he didn't want to be left to guard the elf on his own. The punishment they gave Brock helped to pass the time
and became more
agreeable for them.

While Brock doubted that Zebulon would come for him, Orville began to worry that the wizard
’s
spell around the hut would not be strong enough to keep Zebulon away until Mustafa came. Orville did not want to be left to face Zebulon alone.

Darkness had fallen and while Brock lay in fitful sleep in the corner which had been his home for five days, Orville and one of the young men were drinking and playing cards while the other slept, There was a noise outside that alerted all in the room. The door flew open and a wizard burst through the door. He was terrifying to behold. He was big, at least as big as Zebulon. His eyes were ablaze, his face twisted into a baleful expression. Orville half rose from the table with a stupefied expression. The other young man cowered in his chair. Brock trembled where he lay.

“Mustafa, I'm so glad you are here. We have the elf  but the wizard hasn't come,” said Orville in a weak voice.

“It is well Zebulon hasn't come because none of you would be a match for him,” he said in a harsh voice. “What do you mean by bringing the elf here. That was not the arrangement!”

“But you said...” began Orville.

“Don't tell me what I said. Go! Get out of here,” he thundered. “You are a stupid incompetent fellow. Take the others with you. And you little elf, move out of here before I change my mind.”

Brock was terrified but he did not wait for a second telling. Amid the yelps from the others as the enraged wizard hit them with bolts of energy, Brock put his head down and ran passed the terrifying wizard. Out in the open he ran with no thought as to where he was going, or where he wanted to go. He didn't care. He ran blindly on, half expecting the wizard to suddenly strike him down.

Suddenly the ground beneath him began to spin, or so he thought. He rose up into the air and was carried off above the trees by a swift wind.

Brock landed on the ground in a heap in a clearing. Looking up, he saw Zebulon standing a short distance from him. He got unsteadily to his feet, his head still spinning from the flight through the air. With one charge he ran headlong into Zebulon, almost winding the wizard as head and chest impacted.

"Why did you leave me? You didn't care! You were supposed to rescue me!" he screamed in rage, while plummeting his fists into Zebulon's chest.

It was like hitting into a wall, but the hurt his fist sustained was not nearly as painful as the hurt in his soul. All the while he shouted and raged, pouring out all his fears, doubts and injustices of the past, Zebulon stood firm, neither speaking or fending off the attack. All he did was support Brock because he would have fallen at his feet otherwise.

At this time Brock had no fear, nor did he even consider the consequences of his actions. When his anger was spent, he backed away, his eyes glimmered with tears of anger. He looked like some wild things with his unnatural bright eyes, his hair standing up on end, and his face covered in cuts and bruises. Each cheek burned with a bright red spot and his lips trembled from spent rage. As his senses began to return to normal, he didn't know what to do. He wanted to run but his legs were weak and he knew that there was nowhere he could hide from the wr
a
th of the wizard. He shut his eyes, waiting for the end to come. A firm hand was placed on his shoulder, and although he felt resigned to his fate, he quivered beneath it.

Zebulon looked down at the troubled young elf and felt sadness for the ordeal Brock had been subject to. "Come," he said, "we shall attend to your injuries and then we will talk."

Despite his weakness and unsteadiness, Brock proudly rejected the offer of support from Zebulon as he began walking in the direction he was facing.

“Wait.” said Zebulon, “the village is this way.”

“I can't go back there, I lied to Uri and his family after they took me in and looked after me.”

“They will forgive. They have spent five days looking for you, in fact most of the village has. They will want to know you are alright.”

"I'll go anywhere but back to the village," Brock said stubbornly.

"Then where would you go?"

"I don't know," said the young elf, his voice accented with hopelessness.

"And what of Mustafa, would you like to return to him?"

Zebulon's last remark, hit its mark and Brock was willing to listen to the voice of reason. He indicated his readiness to accompany Zebulon down to the village. He reluctantly followed a distance behind the wizard until the thought of the other wizard and his vulnerability to attack from behind, caused him to hurry and close the gap.

By the time they reached the sleepy village there were few people around. Uri, anxious for the welfare of Zebulon was pacing around outside his inn. On seeing Zebulon and Brock approach, a smile broke out on his face and he hastened to them. Zebulon patted him on the shoulder and after a few soft hurried words, Uri stood back to allow them to enter the inn. Brock kept his head hung low. Fortunately they met no others on their way to their room.

Once in the room, Brock allowed Zebulon to tend his many injuries and even meekly accepted some herbal tea. Zebulon's mind was racing with many questions but observing that Brock was in no state to be questioned, he wisely held his peace.

Brock too had unanswered questions and although he was fatigued physically and mentally, he knew he would not rest until he could reach some understanding. Most of the past weeks seemed as though he had been in a dream state, where he had become fixated on a single object. As he considered Zebulon, and the gentleness with which he had cared for his cuts and bruises, he could not bring himself to feel the distrust and even the hatred he had harboured over that period. But then he remembered that Zebulon hadn't come to rescue him, even though he must have been in the mountain
. H
e was confused. That thought ate into Brock's mind like a disease.

"Sleep now and we will talk in the morning," Zebulon said as he held a blanket ready to cover the elf.

Brock remained seated on the bed, "Not yet, I must know why you didn't come to rescue me! Was it because you feared Mustafa? He is a very powerful wizard...More powerful than you I think."

Despite the seriousness of the topic, Zebulon's mouth turned slightly up at the corners. He gave a sign and sank on the bed beside Brock. "I have many questions for you also, but if this will help you sleep now, I will answer this one question."

For the first time in weeks blue eyes met grey eyes and Brock, as he saw the concern and kindness in those grey eyes, knew in his heart that he should never have doubted him.

"I did come to rescue you," began Zebulon.

"Is that why Mustafa let me go?"

"Hush and listen. In the magic world, things are not always as they seem. Certainly, the thought of Mustafa being behind your abduction was in my mind. Attempting to piece together some of the recent events, led me to believe two things. First that he had been able to influence you, and second he wanted to have the advantage over me. Mustafa is a powerful wizard. He is also a bad one, but that is not why I didn't come immediately. I could not find you, though I searched all over. It was not until one reluctant witness to your morning ride with Orville, was able to give me a lead to the direction you had gone, was I able to find your position. I had to be careful because it was important to know if Mustafa was with you. Ascertaining he was not, I was able to free you."

"But you didn't!"

"Yes I did. For the benefit of those who abducted you, I appeared in the form of Mustafa. I wanted to frighten them so much that when Mustafa arrived he would find his little minions had fled."

When Brock finally managed to shut his gaping mouth, he said. "It was you who shocked Orville and his friends and sent them running for their lives!" Brock still had so many things he wanted to have clarified but his eyes were growing heavy and his mind becoming dim. Until morning he would be content to know that some punishment had been levelled at Orville and his companions and that he now could
believe himself to be safe once more. There was a smile on his face as he drifted to sleep, visualising both witnessed and imagined images of his three captives fleeing for their lives.

The room was filled with light when Brock awoke. Never had he appreciated how wonderful a soft clean bed could be. He glanced out the window and from the intensity of the light, calculated that it must be late morning. He rolled to his other side so that he could look at the wizard's bed. He expected it to be empty, but Zebulon lay stretched out upon it, his arms behind his head. He appeared to be in deep thought but with the sound of movement he turned to look at Brock.

A table between the beds contained a tray of refreshments. The attractive arrangement spoke of the creative and caring attention of Elvira.

They were finishing their meal when there was a knock at the door. Uri entered followed closely behind by Elvira and Minerva. Uri had a beaming smile on his face as he gave Brock a huge hug. Elvira and Minerva also hugged him. They treated him as a family member and there was no condemnation towards him. They were simply relieved he was safe.

"The villagers have heard you have been found," Uri told Brock. "They want to see you. They were tireless in their efforts to find you."

"Yes," said Elvira, "some of them are waiting outside the inn for a glimpse of you."

Brock looked trapped and looked to Zebulon for a way out of the situation.

"Can he wave to them from the window? He has had a difficult time. He does not feel ready to mix with them yet. Do you mind?" said Zebulon.

"Excellent idea. I'll arrange for them to come around this side of the inn," said Uri.

A small eager crowd gathered outside the room and Brock stood at the open window and waved. He had insisted that Zebulon stand with him. Uri hovered in the background behind Zebulon and Brock sto
od
soaking in reflected glory and excitement. The villagers were in a state of celebration. Even the old man who had given the information to Zebulon at the inn was in the crowd.

On seeing the man, Zebulon asked. "Old man, what is your name?"

"Clarence," said the old man.

"Then Clarence, we thank you. May you be blessed."

The people cheered and Clarence felt like a hero. He was used to being ignored, but this attention felt very good. They patted him on the back and congratulated him. The pain of his loneliness lifted and he, for the first time, felt a part of the community that he had lived in for many years devoid of recognition or care. The present gathering realised that they had never known the man's name or anything else about him other than he was a drunk. Though they regarded themselves as a caring society, they had neglected him. Some were already planning to invite him to some of their social gatherings.

Finally the window was closed and the three in the room turned to more pressing issues.

"You can stay here as long as you need to," Uri offered.

"That is kind of you Uri," said Zebulon. "Brock needs time to heal but then we must be on our way. I have put a spell around the inn so as to hide our presence here from Mustafa. I have also
placed
another spell in the area near where he had the hut
.
Because he expects us to be there, it will take some time before he discovers he has been tricked. Fortunately Mustafa was as poor a student as me when
it
came to scrying. Poor Kareem would pull his hair out over us."

Zebulon and Uri laughed at the last remark. "Of course he may have improved since then," added Uri.

"That's true," said Zebulon, "so we should not wait around too long. When we leave here I intend to
cast
other spells to mislead him further so he will not come and cause trouble in the village and especially so you
and
your family are not placed at risk."

When Uri left to attend duties in the inn, Zebulon turned to Brock. "We will need to leave here as soon as you have recovered. I know where the final gem is and I believe we will be able to extract it fairly quickly. Will you still accompany me?"

"If you trust me to come with you, I will," replied Brock. "I don't understand what happened to me."

"We need to talk about that. You need to tell me everything that happened from the time you met Orville here."

For the rest of the morning, Brock related the story of how Orville had pretended to be his friend, while at the same time casting doubt on Zebulon's honesty. Zebulon did not interrupt him until his story was completed.

"When you went to the inn with Orville,
did
you eat or drink with him
?
" he asked Brock.

"Yes I did. I didn't want to eat because I wasn't hungry, but he insisted, even giving me some of the food from his plate. So as not to offend him, I ate most of it."

Zebulon sat silent for some minutes before saying. "I believe Orville placed a spell
on
the food."

"Orville said he can do magic!"

"No, it would not have been any feeble spell Orville could manage, if indeed he can do any. This magic has a master's touch. I believe it was Mustafa who did this by giving you the spell in the food. It has been done before, and seems to work very effectively on you." Zebulon
’s
lips curled up in a quick smile as he recalled his and Brock
’s
first encounter. Brock was too focused on Mustafa's reasons to notice the reference.

"But why? To get to you? Has he a grudge against you?"

"Something of a grudge, but it goes much deeper than that. I'll explain that more to you in time."

"So what did this spell do to me? Did it make me doubt you and consider Orville my friend?"

"In simplistic terms, yes. But it is more complex than that. Some of the art of magic is to understand people and use that knowledge for spells. The skilful magician has learned to take fears, weaknesses and strengths to design a spell to gain control."

"So if you had no fears or weaknesses, the magic user wouldn't have any power over you?"

"Not all magic is used in this manner, but the type of spells we are talking about here, do rely on a certain condition being present for them to take effect. Remember I told you that you could have overcome the spell I put on you. But eas
ier
said than don
e.
E
veryone to my knowledge, has weaknesses and fears. Those can be used by the magician to enforce the desired results. Also individual strengths can be used in positive ways as well. Magic should be used for good and you must learn that when I began teaching you more."

Brock's face lit up. "After all this, you are going to teach me more magic?"

"I intend to do that. Time for real lessons is when the student is ready. Not only the student, but the teacher. I am ready, and you, I hope, are almost ready. There are just some things to talk about first."

Zebulon looked rather stern so that Brock began to feel uncomfortable. He had an idea that Zebulon wanted to talk about the happenings of the last few weeks. Although Brock rationalised that Zebulon couldn't hold him too responsible as he was under a spell. As the silence continued, Brock began to wonder what sort of wizard Mustafa was that he knew Brock's weaknesses and concerns to use a controlling spell on him. He was anxious also to steer Zebulon away from some things that he didn't want to discuss.

"Mustafa must be very powerful if he knew about me without even meeting me," said Brock.

"That's where Orville comes in. He is a shrewd young man and you, an open book, He only had to relay some of his impressions to Mustafa and then be crafty enough to guide you in the direction desired. The spell then continued to work upon you after you left his presence. That is why he didn't meet you the next morning, he knew that the spell would work better by leaving you to dwell on the story he had given you, building in strength until it all but consumed you."

Zebulon began pacing up and down the room. It was unusual for him to be agitated, he normally had excellent command of his actions, and it unnerved Brock to think what might be the cause.

"Let's go outside for a walk, we have been too long cooped up," he finally said.

"But people will harass me if we leave the inn. I can't face that yet."

"I will put a cloaking spell around us."

"Will we be invisible"

"They will see us, but not recognise us."

After telling Uri they were going out for
a
while, they set out in the direction of the park. It was a very attractive park and at any other time Brock would have enjoyed going there, but painful memories of his encounter with Orville were much too fresh in the elf's mind. He wondered why Zebulon would choose to go there after Brock had given him a vivid description of his misadventure, but he could tell by the wizard's purposeful stride that he had made up his mind and Brock would not be able to persuade him with an altern
ate
direction.

The afternoon was sunny and clear and there were few people around. Brock could have enjoyed the outing, had he not felt a troubling sinking feeling. What he was troubled about he wasn't sure, only that there were many events of the past weeks that left him raw and vulnerable.

They walked in silence until they reached the park. Zebulon, who had been much more instructive and open to conversation than normal, had once again closed off into his own mind and shut Brock out. Brock did not know how he could be admitted into this private world and could only wait to be enlightened as to Zebulon's intentions.

As they reach the spot where Brock had met Orville, Zebulon stopped. His eyes were dark as he glanced at Brock, asking a silent question. Brock responded with heightened colour and a downcast look.

"So this is where you met Orville?" A small muscle stood out on Zebulon's jaw.

"Yes."

"Tell me about it again."

Reluctantly Brock recited to Zebulon, the first meeting with Orville. Now that he stood on the spot, the full emotional impact hit him once more and he trembled visibly. The impact of his remembrance and the intensity of Zebulon
’s
gaze unnerved Brock. He began opening and closing sweaty fists in his agitation. Zebulon seemed to tower over him and Brock felt a new threat, not of physical violence but of mental and emotional probing. There was nowhere to hide.

Zebulon, although
observing
every emotion travelling through the unfortunate elf, pressed on with his interrogation. He had his reasons for getting Brock to relive the beginning of his trials.

"So you felt relieved when you found you were not going to get a thrashing
?
What other feelings did you have when you discovered that Orville intended to befriend you?"

"I feel sick. Can't we talk about this another time
?
" Brock felt like a cornered rat, and the vividness of his imagination took him to his unfriendly encounter with the cat. He glanced up at Zebulon with an expression of fear.

"I would like to leave it, but it needs to be discussed now, while it is fresh in your mind. Besides, we have little time, and if we are to continue on together then we must have understanding. Come, sit over here," said Zebulon, indicating a bench under a large shade tree.

As they sat, Brock tried to organise his thoughts. "I was surprised."

"Surprised that Orville would be so friendly after he had bullied you at the farm?"

"Yes. But he explained his reasons. He was very persuasive."

"I'm sure he was...but then you like to take the line of least resistance, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You want to please everyone and avoid as much effort as you can at the same time."

"Why would that be wrong?" Brock asked indignantly.

"It's good to take an easy way, and also to please others, as long as it is the way you should be going. You have got yourself into enough trouble by not being true to yourself. Now, regarding your feelings about me. Why were you so convinced that you couldn't trust me?"

Brock had dreaded this question. He watched some ants making their way along a little ant track, carry their spoils to the nest. He wished at this moment that he could be travelling the same path away from here. He mumbled something under his breath. Then he felt a determined finger under his chin pushing up so he was forced to meet his companion's eyes.

"I can't understand you. Don't talk to the ants, they are not interested in what you have to say," said Zebulon in a tense tone.

"I...I felt so isolated when we left the farm...and you were so distant...I was afraid to confide in you," stammered Brock.

"So it is my fault?" The question was asked in a casual way, with no condemnation or hurt.

"No, I didn't mean that!"

"Then what?"

"I should not have been fearful. Even though it was difficult I should have asked you more questions and told you of my concerns."

"Yes you should have."

Both became lost in their own thoughts. Brock could not tell if the wizard was angry with him, and he dared not look at him. He jumped like a guilty dog found raiding the rubbish heap when Zebulon finally spoke.