Journeyman (A Wizard's Life) (3 page)

“I’m Benen,” he finally chose the truth.

“Like my uncle.” She was excited by the coincidence.

“Just like him, yes,” he agreed. Tears threatened to overcome him. He spoke to distract his mind. “What do you know about him?”

“He died when he was my age,” she said. “Mummy makes a special meal on the ‘versarry. It was very tragic.”

“What did he die of?” Benen wanted to know, but feared the answer.

“He killed an evil wizard! It was very heroic.”

Benen did not think he could hold back the emotions much longer. He knelt down and surprised the girl by hugging her without warning. She gave a little squeak but then hugged him back. She must have felt his tears on her back.

“It’s okay,” she told him, patting him on the back. “Are you my uncle’s ghost? Is that why you’re sad?” she asked.

He nodded because he could not speak. They separated and he turned to leave; He could not stand any more of this.

“Thank you,” the girl said as he walked away, “for saving our village.”

By the time Benen returned to the caravan, he had regained control of his emotions. The caravan was wrapping up its business and getting ready to leave. He rejoined Orst on his waggon.

“Wassa matter, Benen-boy? You look like you seen a ghost,” the man asked.

“Maybe I am,” Benen muttered. Seeing his dark mood, Orst did not bother him with further talk.

#

The way to the capital was long and the caravan crossed many villages and towns on its way. Benen eventually recovered his usual good humour. He could take comfort in the encounter with Hilda if he thought of it in the right way and he made sure to only think of it thus. If he had not gone as Oster required, there was no telling what the wizard would have done to the village. Through the years of his apprenticeship, Benen had seen what Oster was capable of and he shuddered when he imagined him unleashing his wizardly might against a village. He decided that another thing a wizard working for the crown could do was to hunt down the wizards who would victimize the weak.

As the days of travel continued through monotonous countryside and villages much too alike to each other to be memorable, Benen began to understand why Orst had been so happy to have company. Despite this, the trip was long enough that even Benen and Orst grew tiresome to one another. Benen, without rancour or ill-will, took to walking on his own elsewhere in the caravan. Orst did not seem to mind and they still talked some of the time. While he walked, Benen could let his mind wander, thinking about magic, life, and the meaning of it all.

The caravan was a day out from yet another small village when it was attacked.

There had been no warning at all. The brigands struck while the caravan was passing through one of the largest forests in Estren. They shot arrows at the guards from the trees and then rushed the caravan, swords in hand. From where he was standing, Benen could not tell how many attackers there were, but their yells and demands of surrender made them sound very numerous. There
was
one bandit that he could see, he was heading for Orst’s waggon, having felled the guard that had stood in his way. Benen decided to act.

He looked to the skies to see what constellations were up, taking precious moments to figure out a non-lethal means of stopping the brigand. As he worked out a spell, Benen saw his friend panic and try to run away. Orst fell and the brigand stood over him, ready to run him through.

Panic seized the boy wizard then. He went on instinct, calling forth magic from his favourite constellation: the Cleaver. He cut the brigand in two cleanly, both halves of the man immediately began spurting blood. In that moment, Benen had no thoughts to spare for what he had done, he ran to make sure Orst was all right.

Orst’s eyes and mouth were both open wide. He stammered at Benen for a second then took a breath and got control over himself.

“You really are a wizard,” he said, backing away from Benen. He seemed as afraid of the boy as he had been of the brigand.

“It’s all right Orst, it’s still me,” Benen assured him.

“What’s your game?”

“There’s no game, I really am going to the capital.”

“Get away from me,” Orst said, shaking.

“I won’t hurt you,” Benen protested, but Orst was not listening. He was making signs to ward against evil with his right hand and backing further away from Benen.

“But I saved your life . . . .” Benen saw it was no use and gave up. He looked around to find that all the attackers had been killed or repelled. Orst was talking to others of the caravan, pointing at Benen and at the two-part corpse of the brigand.

Benen knew then that his time with the caravan had come to an end. These ignorant men feared him and what he could do. They didn’t understand he could help them.

This would change, he vowed, but not today and not here. He backed away from the caravan and lost himself in the forest.

No one followed him.

#

In the woods, Benen spent some time feeling sorry for himself. In the wizard’s tower he had been isolated through a lack of other people with which to interact, now he was isolated by his power and the fear the common folk had of wizards. His aim was to change this, but right at that moment he couldn’t help but feel all alone in the world. Worse, he worried about the repercussions of having killed using his magic. He had been told never to do such a thing, but if he had hesitated any longer, Orst would have died.

He waited and waited for something bad to happen, dreading the worst, but nothing manifested. His magic did not kill him in repercussion, his heart did not stop of its own accord, and he did not go blind. Perhaps he would have nightmares for the rest of his life?

Tired and worn out, Benen decided to sleep and deal with what may come —
if
it came — when it did. He found a comfortable piece of ground under the protective branches of a large oak tree and curled up there to rest.

The next morning he had recovered his determination. He had a new plan for getting to the capital.

Benen undressed and arranged his things in a bundle using his shirt as a makeshift bag, tying up the sleeves and bottom. Next came the hard part. He waited for a half hour for the right constellations to both be in the sky and then cast the shape-shifting spell he had cast before to change into a eagle. This time he pictured himself a very large eagle. The spell was taxing, but he managed it, then he went through the agony of the change. It seemed it did not get any more pleasant with repetition. After that, he rested. He had to, he was too exhausted to do otherwise.

An hour later, he was letting the eagle part of himself guide the body into flight, his bundle of things grasped in one of the eagle’s talons.

He continued along the road the caravan had been using, soon overtaking the slow collection of waggons. Before the attack, Orst had told Benen they were only a few days out from the capital, that there were just two more villages on the way. Following the road, Benen swiftly passed the first village and made it to the second near sundown. He decided to stop there for the night. He wasn’t sure how much farther he could fly in one day and he was famished.

Letting the eagle hunt, it soon found a hare. The giant eagle descended on the creature and gobbled it up all at once. The hare barely put a dent into his hunger. Benen realized that as a giant bird he needed larger prey than what the eagle mind would naturally seek. He tried hunting again, and made sure to guide the eagle along to more appropriate animals. When they spotted a deer, Benen had to force it to act: it could not see the beast as prey. When it finally had the deer in its claws though, the bird part of him had no problem with eating the deer; it tore into it with gusto.

Full and content, both Benen and his eagle-self were pleased to go to sleep. He chose a nearby empty meadow and settled down for the night.

He was only disturbed once. A dog or wolf — Benen was not sure which — had approached him, but when the animal saw the size of the bird it had set its sights on, it turned tail and fled in a hurry.

When he awoke the next morning, Benen breakfasted on the leftovers of the deer and then flew again, seeking the village he had found the day before. From there he followed the only other road out of the village, reasoning that it must lead to the capital. His reasoning was sound and within a few hours of flight he saw, in the distance, the first signs of a city.

It was just as impressive and large as he had imagined it would be; larger even. What caught his eye the most was the wall around the inner portion of the city. He had never seen a walled city, although he had heard of them in stories. Seeing the wall and the castle that lay at its centre made Benen so excited he flew too low. Not only was he seen, his size was also obvious to those below. Before, he had kept far enough away from the ground that even if he was seen he would be mistaken for a normal eagle. He pulled up sharply as cries of alarm rang out from below. He saw, as he wheeled away, that the walls were now crowded with guardsmen — presumably with crossbows.

Benen chose a secluded stand of trees in the distance and headed in that direction. He hoped he had not scared too many of the people of the capital with his visit as a giant eagle.

He landed in a clearing and steeled himself for the transformation back to human form. The last time he had changed back, it had knocked him out. This time it only floored him. He was still conscious, but couldn’t move a muscle without wishing he were dead. Benen wondered if he might not have preferred being knocked out after all. He decided to rest there until he could put on clothes again without overwhelming agony.

This took several hours and he found himself napping in the end. He woke up feeling capable of facing movement once again. He got dressed, slowly, and then limped along in the direction of the capital. He reached the outskirts a short time before sun down.

I made it! I’m at the capital,
he thought with triumph, feeling like he had overcome the greatest obstacle to achieving his goals. Soon, he would meet the king. Tomorrow maybe. Tonight he needed to find rooms and supper. Also, it would not do to meet the king in his shabby home-made clothing, he would need to go shopping.

Planning his big day, Benen walked into the city.

#

To Benen’s eyes, the city was full of strange novelties. The first thing he noticed was the people. Not only were they more plentiful than he had imagined, they were also more varied. He saw people with different skin colours — something he had not known existed — and fashions so colourful and exotic he felt overwhelmed.

The second thing he noticed was all the stone buildings.

They can’t all be churches
, he thought. The only buildings he had previously seen built of stone were places of worship. Here, there were stone buildings aplenty. They were still a minority, but they were common enough that he saw three as he looked for lodgings.

The third thing he noticed was the smell. The city stank worse than any stables Benen had ever smelled. The streets — which were made of cobblestone — had grooves on the sides to channel feces and urine the inhabitants dumped out of buckets from their windows.

Benen found it hard to reconcile the city’s parts together. It was exotic and beautiful, but also revolting. The whole overwhelmed his senses and his sensibilities until he felt he needed to get off the streets immediately. He entered the first building whose sign suggested lodgings to him. It depicted a bed and a woman beckoning.

When he opened the door, the smell changed from the odours of human waste to that of pungent exotic scents. He caught a glimpse of sumptuous furnishings and half-clothed women before a tall and muscled man with the blackest skin Benen had ever seen threw him out.

“No Beggars!” he yelled to Benen as he tossed him.

Thankfully, Benen did not land in the gutter. His fall was broken by some passers-by. He started apologizing to them, still confused by what had just happened, and was stopped by one of them handing him a coin.

Benen realized he looked like a beggar with his dirty home-made clothing of plain canvas. He would remedy that in the morning, but he needed lodgings for the night. Wandering the streets, he tried to ask for directions and was again handed a few coins — pennies this time. Benen gave up on the people walking down the streets and instead went to some men dressed no better than he was who were sitting by the side of the street, near the gutter where few would walk. Many had pots in front of them, some of the pots had a few coins in them.

The beggars were friendly and gave him directions to a lodging house that was affordable, but not too high class to accept him — if he had the money to pay for his stay. He gave the beggars the coins he had himself been given and added to that one of his silver pieces. The beggars immediately set to thanking him profusely and, when he walked away, immediately fell to arguing among themselves how best they could divide the coin between them.

The inn, when Benen found it, had a sign out front featuring a painting of a worn out boot. He went in anyway, hoping to have correctly followed the directions.

Inside, the building was clean and functional, but far from elegant like the one where Benen had been thrown out. A man behind a counter accepted his pennies and rented him a room.