The Wheelwright's Apprentice (20 page)

31

The Count leaned back in his comfortable chair, and looked at his two friends who also did duty as confidants and bodyguards. “It’s a pity he pledged to cure everyone. I would have liked him to know what it is to bear the burden of killing thousands.”

“He killed Aravia without any remorse whatever, and enjoyed it.” Beech made it sound as if Art had succumbed to bloodlust.

“Revenge, that’s what it was, pure and simple. He didn’t want or need anyone else to die. She killed his first love. I don’t think he enjoyed it. It was just the relief of putting all of that behind him and being able to move on.” Arch’s observations were better than Beech’s as he had spent more time around Art.

“Do you agree he’s growing in the right direction?” the Count probed.

“He kills when he has to, and has compassion when he doesn’t. More importantly, he seems to know what is right.”

“I agree with Beech,” Arch echoed. “Although he’s getting a bit ragged around the edges right now, you’ve really pushed your youngest son rather hard.”

“I’ve had to.” The Count gave a long sigh. “I’m not sure what to do with him.”

“Why don’t you give him a choice,” Beech suggested. “He has certainly earned it! It’s not every day you kill a ruling adept and then not take over their country.”

The Count was in an unusually reminiscent mood. “I love my country and have never wanted anything else. My life has been dedicated to my people and giving them the best quality of life that I can. I am beginning to see some of that in Art. I don’t think he’s interested in running a country yet.”

Beech stifled a low laugh. “Since the war finished, the only thing he’s interested in running is away!”

* * *

It was three days later that Art finally had a chance to see his father. Since it was his promise that they would heal the whole Arglarian army, he had been told to help until it was finished. This stratagem had given his father time to think.

“You did very well, except you gambled your life,” his father started thinge ki, “Think about it. It could be a very long life. Do you know how old I am?”

“I have no idea but from what I’ve heard, it must be at least three hundred years.”

“Aravia, whom you just killed, was over five hundred. I have known of adepts reaching six hundred before they go mad. That’s a long time.”

Art was surprised. “I had no idea.”

“Did you find any use for that face I arranged for you?”

Art suppressed a grin. “No, but I was inspired to design an ugly one too. It made me look very fearsome covered in Aravia’s blood. I’m sure it helped deter her adepts from attacking me.”

His father let out a booming laugh. “You had just destroyed an adept who had been ruling her country for hundreds of years and was probably much stronger than any of her helpers. None of them would have dared try!”

Art was embarrassed. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

His father shook his head. “Nevertheless, you did very well for Galland, and I believe for Arglaria. I am going to give you a reward and show you something very few others have seen.” He rose, went to Art, took hold of him, and they vanished.

They came to a place with a soft glow from all around, it was warm, and as Art’s eyes adjusted he saw that they were in a cave.

“Come this way, Art.” The Count led him further into the cave, where he picked up and lit a torch. He then used it to light others and slowly a strange vista was revealed. There was a spring bubbling in a corner. “This spring is hot and keeps it warm in here. I’ve known this place since I was a child. When I came into my power, I sealed its entrance from outside. It was always my special place.” They walked in further. “It’s still my special place. This is where I keep the most precious thing I have in all the world. This is the strength of my Will!”

Art was totally flummoxed. He had no idea what this ‘Most precious thing’ could be, but knew he was about to be told. What the light of the torches revealed was something he never could have guessed.

There was a girl lying on a daybed. She seemed to be sleeping, and she was breathtakingly beautiful. She had long, vividly red hair that had been laid beside her and stretched beyond her waist. He looked to see if she was breathing, but saw no evidence. “Is she alive?” The question was involuntary.

His father was wistful. “She was my first love. We grew up together, neighbors. For years before we knew about the differences between boys and girls we were inseparable. I always called her ‘Red’.” He sat on a chair beside the bed. “That’s why my City is called Red City. It’s a constant reminder of her.” He gazed at her wordlessly for a minute or two.

“Without me, she would die. She exists in this deep sleep, without aging, as a result of my Will. When we die, all the spells we are holding dissolve. She would wake up in this cave with no way out and eventually starve. It is a huge boost to my Will to know that she would die if I did. If you like, it gives me another reason to stay alive. It is the extra edge I might need if I find myself fighting another adept.”

Art digested this for a while. “Don’t you miss spending time with her?”

“Of course I do. I wake her up once a year and we spend three or four days together. That’s a time that is sacrosanct. She isosaly my only link back to my past. I also come here now and then just to look at her, as we are now, if I need my spirits lifted.”

Much later they were back in the Count’s study. “What would you like to do now?” He was actually offering Art a choice.

“I want some peace and quiet for a while. I have had enough of doing stupid things, however necessary they are.”

“Anything in mind?”

“I simply want to go back to the normality of what I was doing before. Learning a non-magical trade, helping at the Temple, healing, and hopefully sinking into obscurity for a while. Being ‘Gim’ again will save me from any notoriety that Art’s exploits might have created. A trade is a very useful asset if I ever have to seriously hide that I have the Will. It would be very nice to qualify as a journeyman as soon as possible, so I can be known as Gim Wheelwright.”

“I had thought you would have asked for something a bit more exciting.” His father got up. “I’ll send for you in a few months and we’ll see how you’re getting on. Are you going straight back?”

Art shook his head. “I have one thing to do first.”

There were still lots of wreaths on the doors in the residential district. Art expected they would be there for some time yet. The one on Amia’s parents’ door was fresh.

Everyone was at home, including her two younger siblings. They all wore long faces, but brightened up a bit when Art arrived. When he was seated he said, “Your daughter has been avenged. The woman responsible is dead.”

Her mother found her voice. “We had heard that High Priestess Aravia had been killed and that the war was over. Do you know what happened?”

Instead of replying, Art reached into a bag and brought out a package. “This is a souvenir. I originally took it without thinking, but decided that I would decorate it and give it to you.” He carefully unwrapped it. It was a lifelike portrait of Amia that Art had magically impressed into, well, something. The family was initially so taken with the picture that they ignored the medium; however, when Art set it on a wooden stand he had shaped for it, they took notice.

Amia’s father was the one to ask, “It’s an amazing likeness, and we will treasure it, but what did you carve it into?”

“I cleaned it and cured it before I started making her likeness, so it’ll stay the way it is. I said it was a souvenir. I picked it up from Aravia’s Temple. It’s a piece of her skull.” He stood up as they were unable to reply. He walked to the door and turned, “I decided that you should have it.”

* * *

He slipped quietly back into Master Jangon’s yard, first ensuring he was wearing the right clothes and face. He had walked from the Temple and had enjoyed the familiar sights and smells along the way. It was good to be back. He felt himself relaxing properly for the first time in over a month. He was able to get to his room without being seen, and put up his few belongings. He was exhausted so he lay down on his pallet and slept.

He was woken by Ellary shaking his shoulder. “I saw you sneak across the yard earlier. You looked beat; you look a little better now. I didn’t think you’d want to miss supper.” He sat up. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I’ll give you the official version while vehat Ar we eat. Everyone will want to hear it. You’ll get the truth eventually.”

They were all happy to see “Gim” return. Happiest of all were the other apprentices who had been doing extra work in his absence. As predicted, he was barely able to get a fork to his mouth as he told them as much as an apprentice working repairing the army’s wheels would be expected to know.

The war was over. Aravia was dead. How did she die? The common knowledge was that she had been blown apart, but no one knew how or by whom. No mention had been made of the disease, but the invaders were already moving back. He was teased for all sorts of details, but he could only tell what volunteers - as he was presumed to have been - might know. Still, it was enough to satisfy them.

It wasn’t enough for Ellary. She coaxed a lot more detail out of him afterwards, including spreading and curing the disease and his visits to the camp. That was enough for her, at least for the moment. He made no mention as to why he had been at the forefront of things and she never asked. Now that Amia was dead, he knew that he was seeing Ellary in a different light. She was an important friend and he made it clear to her that she was important, and a good friend. As long as she believed Amia to be alive, he had time to sort himself out. He wasn’t too happy about not telling her something she deserved to know, but telling her would have raised issues he wasn’t ready to face.

Life quickly settled back down and Art threw himself into his work. He avoided using the Will except when he did his day each week healing at the Temple. Art also resumed his weekly task of going to the market with Ellary. It was a job which he liked, as it gave them a chance to talk. His return to the marketplace was greeted cheekily by a couple of the vendors who shouted, “Your boyfriend’s back!” and “Look. It’s the happy couple.” They did indeed look happy. They turned red too.

About a month or so after Art returned, they were again doing their weekly market run. As they approached a stall that sold chickens, they could see a big crowd. Naturally Ellary dragged him across to see what was happening, even though chickens weren’t on the shopping list. For a girl, gossip is always on the list. As they got closer, they heard someone say, “Tell us that again. I missed most of it.”

The vendor was happy to repeat what she had heard. It was good for business. “The person who killed their so called High Priestess Aravia was the Count’s own son Art.”

Ellary rounded on him and whispered, “Is that true?” He nodded mutely.

“How do you know?” A housewife was eager for more.

“I got a letter from my uncle; he works for the Count as a scribe. He said
that Art materialized right inside her and ripped her apart.”

“That sounds like a dangerous trick,” one of the shoppers observed.

“Oh yes!” shouted the vendor. “I’m told it was a real gamble.”

“But a winning one!” This was a lower voice.

“They blew up the Temple after that.” The vendor was playing to her audience. “This Art picked up a piece of Aravia’s skull as a souvenir.”

“What happened to it?” The crowd was agog.

“It seems that he carved a likeness of his late girlfriend into it and gave it to her parents in memory. It was to get revenge for her death that made him take the big risks he did.”

Art never imagined that Ellary had such a fearsome punch.

32

Ellary had said nothing to Art since she had crashed her fist into his jaw. She had grunted at him a couple of times, notably when she had maliciously brought an extra ten pounds of potatoes for him to carry back from the market. Now she was striding ahead of him while he tried to keep up. She was seriously pissed off with him, and felt that she had every right to be.

Art didn’t think there was any way for him to make her purchases weigh any less, so he struggled on hoping that she would get down off of her high horse long enough to realize that not telling her about the death of his girlfriend must have been a very hard decision. It was a bit over a mile from the marketplace to Master Jangon’s yard, and she was showing no signs of slowing down. Art’s arms were burning when he placed the two heavy bags on the kitchen table for her mother to sort out.

Ellary had gone to her room and Art, apprenticed as he was to her father, was not really in a position to follow. If she wanted to sulk and stew, there was nothing he could do about it. Art simply went back to the workbench where there were several wheels for him to repair.

Dannoy was already there and as soon as he saw Art, he asked, “What did you do to her mightiness? She seemed a little bit aloof when you got back.”

“If we knew what women wanted and disliked, life would be a lot easier.” Art hoped his cryptic comment would be enough. Since Dannoy didn’t reply, he assumed it was.

The best part of an hour later, when all the wheels had been repaired, Dannoy offered, “It’s her birthday in three days. A nice present normally does the job at times like these.”

Art hadn’t known what day was Ellary’s birthday and he was reminded that although his next birthday was still months away, he was getting older. Supper that evening recalled the time when Art only spoke to Ellary when she first spoke to him. It hadn’t escaped her parents’ notice that Ellary had been much happier and animated since “Gim” had returned after the war ended. After the meal, as Ellary was helping her mother clean up, she was asked, “Did Gim do anything?”

Ellary hadn’t been prepared for this and couldn’t say anything. When her mother asked, “Are you alright, dear?” she eventually replied that Gim was and always had been a perfect gentleman and she had no problems with him.

“Then is it that you wish he wasn’t always a gentleman?” her mother quipped. Ellary went bright red. “So you like him but he doesn’t like you?”

“I know he likes me - but as a friend.”

“I don’t suppose that as your father’s apprentice, he would dare show any more than that.”

Ellary at last realized that the only person she could talk to about Art was Art, so once the dishes had all been put up she went looking for him.

He wasn’t in his room, nor was he anywhere else that he could be expected to be. She belatedly remembered that that this was the “evening he helped at the Temple” which had been arranged by his father so that he would have a guaranteed evening each week to visit his late girlfriend. She wouldn’t follow him to the Temple, and anyway he could have gons hs beee anywhere. She was standing in the yard looking a bit frustrated when Dannoy came past and asked, “Looking for Gim?” She coloured slightly, so Dannoy added, “He said he was going out for a while, didn’t say why.” She thanked him and went back into the house.

Art was shopping. He wanted to get Ellary a nice present, and knew that girls preferred clothes over most things. He hoped that if he made something himself, it would be appreciated even more. He had made a point of doing his best to imprint her measurements in his memory and headed for a shop that he knew would still be open.

Several hours later he returned with two complete outfits, one set for the daytime and one for the evening, with shoes to match. The daytime outfit was elegant and also workmanlike. He had created tiny little wheels for the buttons to emphasize her father’s calling. The evening gown he had agonized over for ages, he wanted it to make her look wonderful without being overly revealing. He still wasn’t ready to set her mind down that path. They were, of course, seamless and perfect, and he wrapped them up carefully.

Ellary, having ignored Art initially, was the one now doing the looking, but he very adroitly managed to avoid being cornered the following day.
“Why is he ducking me?”
she asked herself.
“We’ll have this out eventually, so why put it off?”
Her answer came sooner than she expected. Tucked under the covers as she retired, she found a note in Art’s impeccable hand.

“Visit me at the Temple tomorrow as I have something important to show you.”
Below it was added,

“If you don’t want to walk, I’ll take you, but I’ll be leaving before breakfast.”
There was no name. It wasn’t needed.

It was still early as Art and Ellary materialized in the little room at the Temple set aside for arriving adepts. She had told her parents that Gim had offered to give her a tour of the Temple, and their first stop was his brother’s office where he had them served breakfast. “I have a lot of explaining to do, don’t I?” he started.

“You bet you do. I am more ready for an explanation than I was a couple of days ago.”

“I hoped you might be. I also wanted, no, needed, to tell you here, as there is someone I want you to meet.” He took a gulp from his cup, and when she said nothing, he went on, “If we don’t have friends, we don’t have much. My best friend was called Gim, the butcher’s son. That’s why I chose that name for the face you see every day. Losing my childhood friends all at once, and my experiences since, has made me particularly aware of the importance of real friends.”

“I know I am a friend. That’s why I was so annoyed that you didn’t tell me your girl was dead. It must have been very hard and lonely keeping it to yourself.”

“I managed to get a lot of it out of my system when I killed Aravia. She started the war and she was ultimately responsible. Unfortunately things have a way of being a lot more complicated than they seem. I really would have liked to have had your support and comfort, but I know how you feel about me, so we both know what would have happened.” He paused a bit and ate a couple of bites in silence before he continued. “I’m not over Amia. I’m not sure when I’ll be over her. I hope you’ll understand after you meet Seringa.” He glanced at a timepiece on the wall. “She usually comes early. Barring emergencies, I still have twenty minutes. Finish up and I’ll walk you down.”

“Seringa, that’s the woman who is carrying Amia’s baby.” Memory flooded back, as Art had hoped. They left the room.

“That’s Amia’s and my baby.” Understanding descended.

“You can’t let go of Amia because of the baby.”

“I can’t let go of Amia yet because of the baby. I really want her to be fine. I want her born healthy to loving parents before I’ll be ready to move on. That’ll be a couple of months. Everything is going fine.” He made as if to take Ellary’s hand but stopped himself. “It has been very difficult for me. I hope you can understand.”

They quickly reached the area set aside for women’s conditions where Seringa was already waiting. Art greeted her warmly, and after several words of professional small talk, he said, “This is my friend Ellary. I wanted her to meet you. I’ll see you soon.”

Art was busy healing until lunchtime, when they were able to meet back in his brother’s office. “How did you like Seringa?”

“She was a nice woman, but she thought I was pregnant and was looking for reassurance. I couldn’t tell her I was still a virgin.”

“But you just told me.”

Ellary blushed furiously. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out that way.”

Art conjured up a smile, reached down to the floor and brought up a package. “This is for tomorrow. Happy birthday.”

Ellary opened the package to growing wonderment, and when she had seen everything, Art said, “I’ll step outside for a couple of minutes so you can try them on.”

It was much more than a couple of minutes before Ellary opened the door to let Art back in. She was wearing the evening dress which clung to her every curve. It was bright red and silky. “You total bastard,” she almost shouted. “You give me the best clothes I’ll ever have and I can never wear them! Everyone would know you had the Will.” Her right hand, which was aimed unerringly at his left cheek, stopped a couple of inches away and bounced.

“You really believe I didn’t think of that? I was prepared for the slap, as I wanted the clothes to be a surprise. You can tell your mother that you made the other outfit yourself. I will admit to the buttons as being an apology for...well...whatever, as well as for your birthday. Simply hide it until you can show it to her as ‘finished’. As for the dress you have on now, I was hoping you would wear it for me this evening.”

She grabbed him and hugged him. When he managed to pull away, he said, “I am looking for a favour; actually, it’s a big favour. Sit down. The dress’ll be fine.” They both sat down, as Art said, “I want you to meet my father.” He quickly added, “It’s not what you think. Let me explain. When I told my father about Amia’s death, he said a couple of odd things. He either guessed or knew that she was pregnant, but didn’t know that Seringa was now carrying the baby. He is, amongst I don’t know how many talents, a consummate truthreader. So when he asked me if she was pregnant I had to answer very carefully. My answer, ‘Yes she was’, was completely true because she was - six weeks earlier! I have become an expert at shading the language and telling only the part of the truth that suits me. It’s a survival instinct.”

He took a deep breath, as she told him, “Go on.”

“He then told me rather callously thr cdth="14"at the baby was no loss, as he didn’t approve of any adept, including his own offspring, having children of their own until he was sure of their loyalty.” He made sure to catch her eye, “There’s more. When he first took me on as an apprentice, he told me he would probably end up killing me.” He paused to let that one sink in.

“Your father doesn’t sound like the ideal, loving parent.”

“Oh, he can love all right. You see, he has had so many children over the centuries that he doesn’t see them as anything remotely special. If he had a child by the woman he loved, it would be different. I’ll have to tell you about that some other time. Anyway, he said that having a child to protect was something that would help the parent to strengthen his Will, more so if it was a first child, and especially if the parent was young.”

“Do you expect to get into a fight with your father?” Ellary was showing concern.

Art shivered, “I hope not, I want to live a bit longer.”

“So what’s the point of me meeting him?”

“The war taught me a lot of things, most of them things I never wanted to know. One crucial one was that if you live long enough you go mad. The limit seems to be somewhere around five hundred years. My father is around that age. He also told me that a Will adept should never trust anyone as we are all threats to each other, being the only people who can stop us enjoying an extremely long and happy life.”

Ellary repeated, “Yes, but why do I have to meet him?”

“It’s all a piece of misdirection. If I show up at his castle with you, an attractive and slightly immodestly dressed girl, he will think that I have gotten over Amia, which will allay any thoughts about me having a baby growing anywhere. Also, and please don’t try to slap me again...” He managed to cringe and followed it with a smile. “...he will see you as an available girl I flung myself towards for comfort
and to help me forget, in short a casual liason, not someone who means something to me.” His voice dropped to a serious tone. “Not someone he can use against me sometime in the future if he does go off the deep end.”

“Art, it’s not easy knowing you. How do you want to do this?”

“We won’t go there looking for him. I will simply take you there, ostensibly to show you the castle. Once he finds out I am there with a girl, he will want to see us so he can look you over. He may ask you what you do.”

“What should I say?”

“The best thing to say is, ‘I don’t really do anything’, which from most perspectives you don’t. He might even believe that you are a ...” He went red.

“Lady of questionable virtue?”

“Thanks. I really didn’t want to say it myself.”