Journeyman (A Wizard's Life) (2 page)

When they arrived at the village proper, Enek steered toward the butcher’s and told Benen he would meet him at the tavern. Not wanting to say he did not know where the tavern was, Benen agreed. He figured he should be able to find his way in such a small village.

For the moment, he needed some privacy. He found a quiet place behind a building and, making sure no one was watching him, pulled out his purse.

His coins were a problem: they were too valuable.

All he had were gold coins, each of which was enough for him to live on for a year or more. Taking out his eating knife, he worked at cutting off a piece of the coin. He thought he could get change for that much gold in this village and use that for his expenses. The rest of his currency, he would keep hidden until such a time as he could find a way to trade some of it for smaller coins. He wished there was a safe place for him to store his coins, but since he was travelling, he couldn’t just bury them as he wanted.

Unfortunately for Benen, the coin was harder to cut than he had expected. He worked and worked at it until he nicked himself with the knife and started bleeding. The moon was up, so he used a minor healing spell to close the wound. Then he realized his mistake. Feeling foolish, he put away his knife and thought like a wizard.

He consulted the sky and saw that his favourite constellation, the Cleaver, was just rising. He used the cutting magic the Cleaver was so well known for, and neatly cut his gold coin into eight even pieces. Then he felt the pieces were too neatly cut and used the Cleaver again to rough up the cuts. Satisfied with his work at last, Benen went in search of the tavern and his new acquaintance.

The tavern was not difficult to find; Benen simply found the village square, from there it was in plain view. Inside, he found Enek was already there, his business with the butcher finished. At his table he had two tankards of ale. When he saw Benen enter, he waved at him to come over, motioning to the second tankard.

The only time Benen had tried ale was when he had snuck out of the wizard’s tower in his adolescence. He had loved the taste and the feeling it brought with it, but he knew he needed to stay sharp, so he drank slowly and promised himself he would only drink the one tankard.

After a toast and their first few swallows of ale, Enek got a serious look on his face.

“So who are you really, boy?” he asked. “I spoke to Gord Butcher and he says he’s never heard of a Benen.”

The hunter did not seem upset by the lie, on the contrary, he seemed excited.

“My name really is Benen, but I am not from this village,” Benen admitted.

“Oh? What are you doing here then?”

“I’m on my way to the capital.”

“Really? You’re awfully far from the capital, boy.”

Benen’s heart sank. He hadn’t known where he was or, for that matter, where the capital was, but he had hoped he would be able to get there walking.

He sighed. Seeing his disappointment, Enek ordered another round. Benen forgot to protest.

“Buck up, boy. The capital isn’t a place for a kid like you anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“That place is a cesspool of poor morals and even poorer manners. Were you hoping to find work there?”

“I guess . . . .”

“Okay, keep your secrets.” Enek smiled genially. After a moment of thinking, he said: “Maybe there
is
a way you can make it to the capital.”

“Really?” Benen had been planning to fly as an eagle. Surely, that way he could go long distances faster than on foot.

“Let me look into it for you.” Enek rose from the table. Benen watched him leave the tavern altogether, walking with a purpose. He found he liked the hunter.

Waiting for him to come back, Benen nursed his second ale and petted Enek’s dog. The hound was friendly to him now that he had trekked in company with his master as a friend.

Some ten minutes later Enek returned, a smile on his face.

“I have made your travelling arrangements, my friend. In three days time a caravan is scheduled to make its stop here. You will leave with it. It is slow going but steady, you will be safer travelling in company with the merchants and their guards.”

Benen thought this sounded like a good idea. He was not in a rush, so he could afford to take his time travelling with the caravan.

“Thank you, Enek. You have been too kind,” he told the hunter.

“There is no such thing,” Enek asserted. “If, in your travels, you have a chance to do for someone else what I have done for you, do it in repayment of my help to you. Someday the help will find me when I need it most.”

Benen thought about it and liked it. “A nice philosophy. I accept.”

They drank to it with a third tankard of ale and, before long, a fourth.

The rest of the afternoon and evening were a blur to Benen, but in the morning he found that Enek had made sure they had rooms. He checked his purse and found it still full. He let out a sigh of relief.

There was a note for him on the bed side. He supposed it was from Enek.

The hunter was illiterate. His note consisted of a crude stick man drawing of himself and his dog and an arrow pointing away from drawings of a few buildings. Benen took this to mean that Enek had left town.

He felt abandoned. He had really enjoyed the jovial hunter’s company.

Benen made arrangements to stay in the room for another few days, paying with one of his eighths of a gold piece. Even this small amount of gold made the eyes of the tavern keeper go wide; He had to go to his coffers to get change for Benen.

After that, the young wizard passed his time thinking on his success in changing himself back to his proper colouring and pondering shape-shifting in general.

He had come back to his previous colour successfully only when he had changed back from the eagle form.

Perhaps I was trying too small of a change to use the Builder,
he thought. Benen ran through the constellations in his head, looking for one that would fit with what he thought he would have needed for this cosmetic change. He could not think of one, which was strange since he knew all the constellations. Then he got it: he knew all the constellations visible from Estren, but not the ones visible in the opposite hemisphere. He realized then that he had a gigantic gap in his knowledge of magic and astronomy.

He cursed his former master yet again.

#

The caravan, when it arrived, spent a few hours loading and off-loading cargo. While this busy activity was going on, Benen tried to approach the caravan master, but he was rebuffed; the man was too busy coordinating the work to deal with a troublesome passenger just then.

While waiting for the work to be finished, Benen figured out in his head how best he could have done the same work using magic. It would have been faster and require only one person: Benen. Of course, he knew his time and effort should not be wasted replacing labourers, a wizard would be more useful tackling problems only magic could solve. Benen imagined himself hunting down vicious criminals for the crown or solving crimes using magical spells. He intended to present these ideas to the king when he got to the capital. It was criminal that wizards spent their time studying and navel-gazing when they could make a real difference in the world. Benen would change that. He would speak to the king and make his proposals. But first he had to get to the capital.

The caravan master turned out to be named Drokken. He was a gruff man with little patience, especially not for a young man like Benen who was to accompany the caravan without contributing anything. Since Enek had made the arrangements though, he agreed to take on Benen so long as he kept out of the way of the real workers. This was fine with Benen, he just wanted company and directions to the capital. Also, if the caravan was attacked, he would be able to protect it; he liked feeling that he would be contributing, even if Drokken did not know it.

When the caravan got underway, Benen walked alongside one of the waggons, finding a spot where there wasn’t a guard stationed; he did not want to be accused of being in the way.

All told, the caravan consisted of three oxen-drawn waggons, their handlers, half-a-dozen cargo loaders, a group of ten guards, and Drokken. Seeing Benen walking beside his waggon, one of the handlers offered him a place on the seat, next to him. Benen hesitated for a second, worrying this might be construed as getting in the way by Drokken, but he didn’t want to turn down the friendly gesture, so he accepted.

“You’re new, you are,” the man stated once Benen was settled. “Never seen you with us before.”

“That’s right. I’m Benen.”

“Orst,” he replied. “What’s your story, Benen-boy?”

Benen had prepared for this. “I’m leaving my da’s house. Going to find work in the capital.”

“You’re from Eddegar?”

“Yes sir.”

“No ya ain’t. I know the folks there, y’ain’t from Eddegar.”

Caught again,
Benen thought, exasperated. “How can you be so sure, there are a lot of people who live in our village,” he tried.

“Ha! I didn’t know fer sure, but now I do.” The man smiled wide, revealing a lot of gaps in his teeth. “Now tell me the truth.”

Benen decided to be bold. “I’m a wizard going to see the king.”

“Ha! That’s a good one! Awright, I’ll mind my own beeswax.”

They talked easily after that, Benen mostly letting Orst speak; he liked listening to people talk.

He learnt that Orst had three wives, all in different villages and towns along the caravan route.

“I just loves the women too much,” he said and grinned.

A part of Benen envied the rough and friendly driver his life. It sounded like fun going from place to place along the road, meeting people and romancing women. He knew this wasn’t to be his lot, but still enjoyed hearing of it and Orst loved the telling. It made the first few days fly by.

Before he knew it, the caravan was arriving at its next stop.

“Oh? What’s the village called?” Benen asked Orst.

“Oster’s Gift, you’ll like it. Good people.”

Benen froze.

“You okay, Benen-boy?” Orst asked when he saw all the colour had drained from his companion’s face.

#

Benen had left the caravan to its off-loading, almost in a daze. He had not meant to return home. In fact, he had explicitly decided not to do so. But here he was regardless. He felt certain someone would recognize him any moment.

Keeping away from the crowd that was gathering around the caravan, Benen hurried to get out of the village centre. Rushing as he was he ran headlong into Alden Smith. The two apologized, Benen fearing recognition the whole while, but the Smith did not even give him a second look before heading off on his way.

I guess it
has
been a long time
, Benen thought.
Maybe my own family wouldn’t recognize me.

Despite being unsure if he wanted to confirm this, Benen still wandered in the general direction of his childhood home. Along the way, the sights conjured a lump in his throat and a dryness in his mouth. Would he be welcome, or would his family resent his reopening of old wounds?

As he passed behind the church, he glanced at the rows of headstones and wondered if one was for him. The thought that one of the monuments to the departed bore his name and an epitaph was so disturbing that he turned his head to look anywhere but toward the graveyard.

When he finally caught sight of his family home he saw it had changed, but not substantially. The roof had been redone in new tin and an extension had been built onto the side of the house. Perhaps to house grandchildren? Benen wondered if he was an uncle now.

Still unsure if he wanted to be seen, he circled around to the back of the yard, keeping his distance and lurking behind trees. He was startled by a small voice coming from behind him.

“Are you playing too?” the voice asked.

Benen turned and did not immediately see the source of the voice. “Hello?”

“I’m hiding,” said the voice.

Benen frowned. He looked behind trees until he found a young girl of maybe seven summers. She looked so much like his sister Esren had that he could not speak for a moment. She had seen him and put a finger to her lips. Benen crouched down beside her.

“So you weren’t hiding from me, then?” he asked in a whisper.

“No, silly, I didn’t know you were here.”

“Who then?”

“Tickles.”

“Um, what?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Tickles!”

“You’re hiding from someone who is trying to tickle you?”

She sighed, communicating with that one expression all the despair a child can experience when confronted with the ignorance of adults.

“Tickles, my cat.”

“Oh.” Benen tried not to laugh, but could not stop his smile.

“What’s your name?” he asked the girl.

“I’m Hilda,” she declared. It was Benen’s grandmother’s name. “What’s yours?”

He couldn’t very well tell the girl his real name, could he? Still, he didn’t want to lie if he could avoid it.