The Wizard's Apprentice (The Apprentice) (8 page)

On hearing the familiar voice, Brock wondered if he could pretend that he did not recognise its owner. He averted his face so that he would not be perceived to have looked in the direction of the sound, but from the corner of his eye he could see the familiar and intimidating form of the young red-haired man. As he turned to head towards the safety of the inn, he saw, coming towards him two young men. Looking back at the owner of the voice, he could see that Orville had quickened his pace. Brock's mind was in a turmoil. He doubted if he could outrun Orville and knew that he certainly could not outrun the three of them. The two men coming towards him were almost as big and as mean looking as Orville. They were not the same two companions that had been at the farm with him. Even as he had the thought that maybe they were not connected in any way with his enemy, Brock knew from the purposeful way they approached that they knew each other.

" Brock, where are you going?" Orville was quite close now.

In desperation Brock looked around to see if there were others around whom he might apply for help, but at this time of day most people had returned to their homes and the street was empty save Brock and the three men. Brock clearly saw that he would have to stay and take a beating.

"Don't tell me you are not going to talk to an old friend?" Orville now stood beside Brock.

As Brock searched for words to utter, the two young men drew alongside him and continued on without so much as a glance at either Brock or Orville.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Brock finally said.

"Nor I to see you," responded Orville. He placed a friendly hand on Brock's shoulder and then continued. " I hope you didn't take that thing back at the farm seriously. We were only playing with you."

"Clinton didn't seem to be playing. He didn't like me."

"That Pumpkin Head! I hardly know him, I just came along with the others because Clint said he wanted to show us something. So what is it to be, friends?"

"I guess so," said Brock hesitantly.

"What are you doing so far away from the farm?"

"We are travelling, and visiting friends."

"Well that's great, we can spend some time together. Where is your father?"

"Zeb... my father is with our friends."

"Didn't get to meet your father. Maybe later we'll catch up."

"Yes that's right." While Brock said this he was remembering back to the night in his hut when Zebulon had hur
le
d Orville across the room. But now Orville was acting as though none of that happened. Maybe he was mistaken and it was someone else. It had been dark. Brock still did not feel relaxed in Orville's company.

"Instead of standing out here, let's go to the inn and we can share all that has happened since we last met."

It seemed unreal to Brock that he was befriended by someone who, but for a few minutes ago, had filled him with dread. He hoped very much that Orville would not want to go to the Four Star. He thought it better at this point that he did not introduce him to Uri and Elvira.

Orville led the way to another part of the village where there was a neat inn. It was not as big as the Four Star but it was comfortable and welcoming just the same.

"It's getting late, let me buy you a meal," said Orville as he ordered some ale for himself. Brock had declined the offer of a drink.

"My friends will be expecting me home for the evening meal," said Brock.

"I'm sure they will understand. I'm leaving here soon so it seems a pity not to visit together while we can."

Orville did not wait for any more objections from Brock but went ahead and ordered for them both. While they sat and waited, Orville sipped his ale and regarded Brock with an almost hungry look. This made Brock feel very uncomfortable. He would like to have known what the young man was thinking. He worried about Elvira preparing a meal for him and reasoned that if he did not eat too much here that he could manage a second meal and no one would be offended.

When the meal was placed before them, Orville set to
it
with gusto, asking questions between mouthfuls.

"You didn't say why you and your father left Brookfield Farm so quickly
?
"

"We had to, personal reasons."

Orville nodded his head as if giving Brock's answer serious consideration. "That was most unfortunate, old man Ambrose was very upset. Not only did he suddenly lose two workers but there was some other matter he was angry about."

"Do you know what that was?" Brock asked nervously.

"I am not free to tell you that."

"But I need to know!"

"Why is that? Do you think your father was doing something he shouldn't?"

"Of course not!"

"Then stop looking so worried and guilty and eat up. Here, have some more so that you can be big and strong like me." Orville ladled some of his food onto Brock's plate. "You know you can trust me. I'm your friend. If there is anything troubling you, just tell me and I'll put it right for you."

"Thank you." Brock didn't know what else to say. This was all too strange. He made feeble attempts to swallow food that was having a hard time making its way around the tightness in his throat.

"Don't be so serious. We should have some fun. What do you do for fun here?"

"I...don't know. We haven't been here very long."

"That
’s
no good. When you are young, you need to have plenty of fun. What is the good of life if you don't live it
?
" This was said in a tone and manner suggestive that the young man was many years older as well as wiser than Brock. Orville continued to stare at him with his pale blue eyes.

Suddenly he startled Brock by saying. "Zeb is not your father, is he?"

"Nooo,,, but he's like a father to me."

"So you like him?"

"Yes."

"We should go get him to join us then."

"We can't," said poor Brock. He was thinking hard how he could leave this uncomfortable situation.

"Why is that?" Orville would not be put off with any answers Brock had given him.

"He's away," said Brock.

"Oh, where would that be?"

"He had to go and see a friend."

"Another friend? It's certainly good he has so many friends. Are you sure you know what he is really doing? I mean, how well do you really know him? From what I hear, Ambrose is organising the soldiers to come after him, so he must think he has done something really bad."

Brock turned pale.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I'm a little concerned about you, that's all. Come on eat up and then we will have some fun. I don't want you to worry. It's probably just some misunderstanding, nothing more."

Brock felt no comfort from Orville's words. He just wanted to run away from this place. But where to? He felt confused.

Orville leant forward so that his head was not far away from Brock's and at the same time placed his large rough hand on Brock's. He studied Brock
’s
hand lying sweaty under his own before he said. "Looks like you have been doing some rough work for such a young one. Does Zeb treat you right?"

"Of course he does. Zebulon is a good man." Brock was dismayed at his own isolation. He needed a friend to talk to, one he could trust. But his friends and family were far away. There was no one. Of all the lonely months Brock had faced, this moment was the loneliest. It seemed that Orville had brought to the surface all at once, all the doubts and fears he had ever had.

In a softer voice Orville said
,
"When you have finished your meal, we can talk. I know you need a friend to confide in." He signalled to the girl serving the tables. "Bring us two
tankards
of ale."

Most of the tables in the inn were full of people enjoying the evening meal or sharing some ale with friends. The inn buzzed with conversation. The young elf found no comfort in their proximity. He may as well be sitting out in the desert with Orville his only companion.

When the girl brought the ale, Orville once more indicated for him to eat up and drink up. Deciding that the only way he was going to get away without offence was to eat and drink, Brock ate as much of his meal as he could and drank the ale. The drink was terrible, he couldn't understand how anyone would enjoy drinking it.

Brock rose from the table as soon as he swallowed the last mouthful and Orville rose with him.

"You're in a hurry to go. Maybe I should see you home." He threw some coins on the table to pay for his meal and then throwing a heavy arm over Brock's shoulders, escorted him to the door of the inn.

"I need you to tell me what you know about what Zebulon is supposed to have done," said Brock.

"I am always opening my big mouth. I should never have said anything to you. Now you are upset and you look sick."

"I've got to know," persisted Brock.

" I'll tell you what. You go home and have a good night's sleep and then we will meet here in the morning and I'll tell you all I know. Go on now, I'm sure there is nothing to worry about."

Orville's breath smelt of stale liquor, indicating that he had had a good deal more ale than the amount he had drunk at the meal time. As much as he wanted to extract information from him, Brock couldn't stand being near him any longer.

"Would you like me to see you home?" asked Orville.

"No, thank you."

"We'll meet here tomorrow. And don't forget, I'm your friend. You can confide in me. I can take some of your troubles off your shoulders." With that he gave the elf's shoulders an affectionate squeeze. He gave Brock a smile which was partly lost in the dim light and released his hold.

Brock mumbled another thank you and headed off towards the Four Star Inn while Orville swaggered back into the inn.

Brock arrived at the inn just as Uri was closing the doors in preparation for locking up for the night. He looked at Brock with displeasure. "Where were you
?
Elvira cooked up a special dish for you but you didn't come. We have been worried, we thought something bad had happened to you. " He was aware of the faint smell of ale on Brock's breath.

"I'm really sorry, I didn't expect to be so late. I ran into a friend. Please tell Elvira I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to her." Brock's words of apology rushed out so quickly he wasn't sure he was making sense.

"Ok, be off with you," Uri said in a resigned voice. He shook his head from side to side in an indulgent way, as Brock headed for his room, wrongly thinking the thought that 'boys will be boys'.

Brock had a troubled sleep and woke the next morning with one thought on his mind. He had to get to the other inn and see Orville. He tried not to seem in too much haste to finish his meal and used the excuse that he must make an early start so as to join Zebulon before the day was through.

He bade his friends goodbye as graciously as he could and then, once out of sight of the inn, ran all the way to the other inn. Orville was not there. Even though it was still early morning he feared he may have missed him. He asked at the inn if he had been in. No one had seen him. All morning and part of the afternoon he waited, but Orville did not come. Brock began to have dark thoughts that Zebulon had somehow found out about Orville being here and detained him, or done something worse. To reach home before nightfall he was forced to leave without the answers he craved.

Even riding hard, he only managed to reach the cottage as the sun was disappearing behind the horizon.

"I was wondering what had happened. I expected you much sooner, " said Zebulon as Brock dismounted.

"I slept in and then Uri and Elvira wouldn't let me go until they had fed me all the special foods she had made," he lied. Brock often didn't tell Zebulon everything, but this was the first lie he had told him. It made him very uncomfortable.

"That must have been a terrible ordeal for you," was Zebulon's crisp reply.

There was little said between them for the rest of the evening. It was not the normal quiet they often shared but a strained uncomfortable silence. Brock excused himself on the grounds of being tired and went to bed early. Lying on his bed he lost himself to dark unhappy thoughts.

Zebulon too, had his own thoughts and concerns. He knew something was wrong with Brock and he hoped with the new day he would have the wish to confide in him. The journey had been hard on a young one he concluded. He needed to speed up the process. His own longing for Saniyah was becom
ing
unendurable. He ached for her.

A dark shape loom
ed
over Brock. A wizard, his eyes blazing, utter
ed
strange words. As his voice built to a deafening crescendo Brock sat boldly upright in bed, his eyes wide in fear.

Zebulon stood beside his bed. "Steady, young lad, you had a bad dream," he said, his voice soothing.

Brock looked at him blankly. Zebulon offered him a cup of warm liquid. "Here, I've made you some herbal tea because you were moaning in your sleep."

With one firm sweep Brock hit the cup from Zebulon's hand and it crashed to the floor.

Zebulon, realising that Brock was not fully awake, calmly retrieved the cup. "I'll make you some more,"

"No don't." Brock was becoming calmer but still looked at the cup as if it had been poison.

"It's just Camomile and Passion flowers and a few other herbs to help you sleep comfortably."

"I said I don't want anything. Leave me alone!" Brock snapped.

Zebulon shrugged, touched his hand to the globe so that the room was once more plunged into darkness, and returned to his bed. Neither Zebulon or Brock slept much more that night, each thinking about the other and trying to make sense of what was happening.

As the weak morning light filtered into the cottage and touched Brock's face, he felt relief that darkness was dispelled. He had not slept since being woken from his nightmare. The experience and the images were so vivid to him that he could not shake the feeling that something had in reality, taken place. His body felt heavy and he knew he would not have the energy to work.

Zebulon had not slept any more that night but a restlessness in him drove him to rise as soon as dawn approached and prepare for work. In an attempt to make no further reference to the night terror experienced by Brock, he committed to a casual attitude.

"We are both awake so early, may as well make an early start. Without you being
here yesterday, I made little headway."

"I'm not working with you today," said Brock.

Zebulon looked surprised. "Are you sick?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll prepare you some herbs and you can rest here for the day."

"I don't want your herbs!"

"They are not my herbs, they are Karman's." He continued to mix several herbs leaving them to infuse in hot water while he prepared a morning meal. "Do you want to eat?"

"No."

Brock waited until Zebulon had left and then emptied the carefully prepared tea on the ground. The young elf considered the possibility of riding back into the village to search for Orville. He desperately wanted to have more information. The obstacle to the plan, apart from explaining to Zebulon where he had disappeared to, was that, even if he managed to entice his horse to come to him, he would have to ask the wizard to relax the spell so that he could take the horse from the surrounding area.
It
had not occurred to him previously because he had no occasion to leave without Zebulon's sanction, but unless he travelled on foot, he was a prisoner.

An uneasiness prevailed
in
him and he replayed the events of
the previous day
over in his mind. He ran his hand over the large tree roots that shared the room with him, wishing he could profit from its wisdom of years. It was then he thought about the opal. The black of the opal seemed to hide the mysteries of life, and the blazing red sent tingling power through his veins. Brock had an overwhelming desire to hold it once more.

Zebulon's bag lay by his bed. Brock felt around for where he knew Zebulon kept the pouch. The wizard was so precise where he placed things that any item could be found easily in the dark. Withdrawing the pouch, Brock emptied its contents. He carefully replaced the blue one, but the red one was retained. He waited for it to transport his mind to a wonderful place of freedom and enlightenment but no such thing happened. Instead of the expected rush of energy and hope, there was a feeling of those forces being drawn from him.

In dejection he placed the gem back in the pouch. Restlessly he moved around outside the cottage only to return a short time later to take up the fiery black opal. This pattern was repeated throughout the morning until Zebulon returned for rest and refreshment. Several times Brock wanted to talk to the wizard about his concerns but found he could not decide if Zebulon's mood was one of concern or suspicion so he
kept
his problems to himself. Zebulon insisted
on
making more tea but Brock emptied it on the ground as soon as Zebulon's back was turned.

For days the same routine continued. Instead of recovering, Brock began to look gaunt. He ate very little, slept little and had no inclination to talk. His obsession with the opal became worse to the point of consuming his thoughts. Once Zebulon left for the mine, Brock would rush to the bag for the gem. Still Brock expected it to satisfy his hunger but instead it would pierce him like a knife to his very soul. It stirred within him every fear, every hurt, and any negative emotion he had ever experienced. The pain took on a physical reality and when this bec
a
me too much for him, he would thrust the opal from himself, only to take it up again to saturate his being with dismay. He reached the point where he kept the opal on him at all times, hoping at first that Zebulon would not discover it missing, but finally not even caring about that possibility.

Zebulon was puzzled by Brock's behaviour. He made a decision to travel to
K
otonia for some stronger herbs. He did not like the look of the young elf.

"Let me go," said Brock. His eyes glowed with an unnatural light. He looked as if he was drugged.

"You cannot make the journey in your condition. I will be back before nightfall." Zebulon looked ragged as well. The harsh life was taking its toll on both of them.

Although Brock pleaded to go, it was
to
no avail. Zebulon had made up his mind, Brock would stay and rest while he
w
ould travel to Kotonia and back.
He would make the journey much faster
if he was alone.

Left to brood for the day, Brock clung to the opal and his dismal thoughts. He felt even more isolated with Zebulon away, even though every day he and the wizard had practically no interaction. He was worried that Zebulon and Orville would meet and decided that it would not be good.

Late in the afternoon, Brock sat within the cottage gazing at the opal. A noise outside suggested that Zebulon had returned. With a sudden sense of
gu
ilt he dropped the gem back into the pouch and quickly placed the pouch in Zebulon's bag. He then lay on his bed covering himself hastily with a blanket and pretended to be asleep.

He peered from under his eyelashes as the door opened. His heart thumped in his chest as he realised it was not Zebulon. The figure who entered was that of
a
rough looking man. He moved around the room examining various things and mumbling to himself. Brock thought he must have come to rob them and expected him to go for the bag as the only possib
le item
of value. However he did not touch it. Brock also wondered how it was that the intruder did not see him. There was enough light in the room for him to see the stranger's features in clear detail. Not having any other ideas as to what he could do, he lay without moving a muscle, watching as the man walked around and around the room.

Then Zebulon appeared. The man and the wizard confronted each other. Zebulon's eyes blazed in rage as he sent waves of blazing current into the hapless man. As Brock watched in horror at the torment Zebulon inflicted, he realised that Zebulon looked like the wizard from his nightmare. His face was contorted into an expression of pure hat
red
. Brock wondered if the two knew each other.

As quickly as the fight began, it ended with the man dead on the floor. In distress and panic, Brock felt himself losing consciousness. He fought to stay alert but finally nothingness overtook him.

Brock was not sure how much time had passed before he regained consciousness but as he looked to where the man's body had lain on the floor, it was gone. Zebulon was busy putting supplies away. When he saw Brock looking at him he came to the bedside.

"I found a herbalist in the village and she recommended these herbs." He showed Brock some small bags. "She said you
r
illness seemed very much like an illness that miners can get. She also suggested that when you are strong enough it would be a good idea for you to go and stay in the village to regain your strength."

If Brock thought he knew what fear was when he first met Zebulon, he now knew otherwise. His heart seemed to have moved its position to his throat and his tongue was so swollen he could not speak. He could not understand how the Zebulon he thought he was beginning to know could be so callous and cruel.

Zebulon prepared the herbs according to the direction he had been given by the herbalist and brought the concoction to Brock. He stood waiting while Brock
swallowed
the vile potion. Brock had wanted to refuse but realised that it was in his best interests not to openly defy the wizard. He knew without doubt that if the wizard wanted to harm him, he could do it with the same ease with which he had dispensed with the intruder.

Brock did beg
i
n to feel better and with the promise that when he was strong enough he would go and stay in the village for an extended time, he made every effort to improve his health. He began working again with Zebulon although the wizard would not let him do very much.

"You are looking much better," Zebulon said one night. "Would you like to go to the village tomorrow? I have already arranged with Uri and his wife for you to stay at the inn and fully regain your health. I will continue working here and it is possible that I'll find the last opal and you will not even have to come back here. Do you like that idea?"

"Yes I do." Brock had done his best to appear as normal as possible and not to be downcast in spirit, but he was still very depressed, suffering doubts and dismay.

Brock left early the next morning with a feeling that he would not return. The opportunity to stay in the village was all he needed to find his way back home. He wanted to get as far away from Zebulon as possible. He was also anxious to see Orville again.

Brock's anxiety to leave Zebulon and gain the safety of the village made him spur on his horse to greater speed. He had thought of taking the opal, because the thought of never being able to hold it again became almost unbearable, but the idea of discovery and of Zebulon pursuing him caused him an even stronger counter emotion.

Uri and Elvira were glad to see Brock although Uri gave him a look as if to tell him he'd be watching to make sure he didn't get into any mischief. They encouraged him to spend time with Minerva. Under any other circumstances this would have been pleasing to Brock but he wanted time to himself to find Orville.

The day after he arrived he decided to go to the same park where he had met with Orville the last time. As if by prior arrangement Minerva was elected to be his companion. Brock wondered if Uri had told Zebulon anything about the last visit and suspicion had been aroused so that they were watching him on Zebulon's orders.

All the way to the park, Brock's mind was travelling on ideas to get away from Minerva, which was a pity because she really was enjoyable young company and the elf and been sadly starved of such friendship since leaving his home. As they neared the park, Brock saw the familiar figure of Orville and his senses became excited. However he did not want to speak with Orville while Minerva was with him. As if understanding that he should not intrude at this time, Orville wisely moved away.

Brock found it difficult to keep his mind on what Minerva was saying, so busy was he in planning how he could leave the Four Star without the family knowing.