Chapter Five: Master and Apprentice
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Bly didn’t realize how much pain he was truly in until the adrenaline started to wear off.
By the time he cleared the town perimeter, pushed through the tree line, and broke out onto the road, putting several hundred yards between him and the town heading west, he could barely walk at a fast enough pace to match his own ambition.
He was certain that one of his ribs was broken by now. The sharp, stabbing sensation that came with movement and painful breathing made the goings difficult. His head pounded, and his fingers were so stricken with a fiery pain that he could barely even make the gesture required to open his sage terminal.
It was half a mile of the most distress Bly had ever been through, but he was free. He had to keep telling himself that, and that he was out of the clutches of the Guild, for now. It didn’t take much convincing to believe that anything was better than what could have awaited him back there, in that room.
And yet, the thought occurred to him almost all at once that he couldn’t go back to Bartolo like this. He didn’t even know if his master was home from his trip out-holding yet. But even if he was, how could he possibly expect him to react any differently than the others did? Bly was certain that his master wouldn’t hurt him, but would Bartolo tolerate someone like him? Would he want to help him at all?
Staring down the narrow dirt path that led through the forest towards Master Bartolo’s tower, Bly paused. The rickety mailbox with the carved owl on top stood idly next to the road, and shortly Bly found himself slumping down against it, unable to bring himself forward for some reason.
He didn’t want to face him. He didn’t want to face any of this all of a sudden. That taunting voice in the back of his mind told him that he would have been better off dead, that he wouldn’t have had to go through any of this had he just stayed in that chair and taken what he deserved.
He was classless. How could he possibly live with that now?
Unfurling his hands, Bly winced at the unsightly mess that was his fingers. He immediately thought of just how nice it would be to have Annie’s healing invocations soothe the deep, thrumming burn right about now. She would tell him how much of an idiot he’d been to push so hard, but that it was just who he was, and that she would always be there to get him out of a sticky situation. Irvin would say something rude or stupid to balance it all out, but they’d all just laugh.
Bly was never going to see them again.
Or maybe, they’d never see him the same way again. Both ideas ached his insides, maybe more than his physical pains ever could, and he suddenly felt adrift.
The tears finally fell down his face, warm and bitter as they were. All the emotions he’d tried so desperately to keep down simply flushed out, and he couldn’t control it. It was only then that Bly realized it had started to rain, slow at first before picking up into a gradual downpour, but he stayed right where he was, sobbing.
None of this seemed real.
What was he supposed to do?
Where was he supposed to go?
What was he?
“One day…”
The migraine flared, but Blychert couldn’t even lift his hand to caress his own temples. He wanted to scream—he didn’t understand what these visions meant, but they had tormented him all his life. Maybe today was that fateful day? Or maybe he had already missed it, he didn’t know. He didn’t care anymore, he just wanted things to go back to how they were—how they were supposed to be.
Suddenly, a sloshing noise nearby caught him off guard, and he quickly thrust one of his hands out to where he thought the sound had come from, his eyes immediately wide with dread as he muttered, “Star light’s splendor, hear my call and burst forth. Light!”
Even though a small amount of time had passed, Bly knew his short-term mana supply had filled partially, giving him the confidence to cast again, despite how much his hands ached. The meagerness of his illumination spell was obvious though, and the darkness around him grew to a white, but modest glow.
However, Bly nearly dropped the spell entirely as he saw who was standing there.
“Blychert?” The low, raspy voice of Master Bartolo said, just there on the edge of the light. His graying beard, normally braided, lay unfurled across the front of his maroon and violet robes—the ones he all too commonly wore when traveling out-holding. Bags hung low beneath his hazel eyes, which looked at him from beneath his wide-brimmed, crimson-pointed cap as if they’d seen a ghost.
“…It’s me.” Was about the only thing Bly could murmur, loud enough to rise above the sound of the rain hitting the eaves of the forest. The smell of wet dirt began to coalesce in the air, as Bly looked up into the face of his master.
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“Good heavens, child.” Bartolo replied belatedly, after taking a long look at Bly.
Hastily crossing to where Bly sat, Bartolo kneeled and removed his travel cloak, slinging it around Bly’s shoulders like there wasn’t any time to waste. His callused hands grabbed Bly’s other wrist, and he studied the fingers for a long while. The surprisingly familiar fragrance of Bartolo’s woody cologne sent a feeling of comfort over Bly, as if to say he was finally safe.
Which was uncanny, because no sooner had the sensation of safety come over him, did Bly feel a small bit of magic around his body, knowing at once that it was the strange but highly recognizable masking spell. In his panic and weary state of mind, Bly hadn’t even considered needing to conceal his own magic aura.
Bartolo then said with as much reservation as Bly was sure he could willfully manage, “I sensed your aura as soon I teleported home, it was frantic and messy. You’ve not been concealing yourself. Blychert? Speak to me.”
“I—I’m—I don’t know. I mean, I guess I’m… I’m classless—” Bly stammered, unable to form the words exactly the way he wanted to. He wanted to say that he was still himself, and that his master didn’t have to worry about anything. Bly wasn’t a danger to anyone, except maybe to himself, so he added, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry—”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” The calm words were a relief to hear, though Bly couldn’t help but notice his master’s tone of voice was more forlorn than usual, “I was still in Renthis when I… when I received word of what had happened. It took me longer than I should have liked to get back home. Damn it all, Bly—I should have trusted my instincts…”
Bartolo looked away down the length of the road, and Bly saw a kind of anger flash in the man’s face that he’d rarely ever seen before.
Blychert was a little suspicious by his master’s words too, and it felt strange to hear him even say them. If he had still been in Renthis, it should have been impossible for anyone to send word to him. He was the only advanced spellcaster in their holding, after all, and Bly couldn’t think of anyone else that might be able to get a message to him. And why would he need to have trusted his instincts?
In any case, Bly was too tired to let the feelings linger, and he felt impelled to fill him in instead.
“There was this woman, she… burned the whole guildhall down.” Bly said, equally amazed as he was terrified, “She got me out of there, or at least she helped me get out. She’s… like me, somehow, but I don’t really know why she was there. She killed almost all the administrators.”
By the meager light of his spell overhead, Bly caught a glimpse of his master’s expression, and it was worrying to say the least. It was distant, lost even, and Bly couldn’t remember him ever seeming so troubled in all his life. But before Bly could ask what was wrong, Bartolo’s gaze softened and turned back to face him.
“Your fingers.” He replied slowly, ignoring what Bly previously had to say, as he frowned somewhat, “You must have fought for your very life. Come, let’s get you home. My wards will keep the Guild away for some time yet.”
“Master Bartolo…” Bly paused, not knowing exactly how to say what he wanted to, so he simply said, “What am I?”
Bartolo stared blankly for several seconds. Then, a slow arm wrapped around Bly’s shoulder as he was hoisted onto his feet. They trudged a few steps down the dirt road before Bartolo finally replied, “You are my apprentice, Blychert. That will never change. Neither for anything nor for anyone.”
Bly sighed steadily, then resigned himself to the task of telling his master everything else that had happened since he’d left home earlier that morning. And Bartolo didn’t say a word the entire time, he just listened.
By the time Bly had finished his recounting of the day, they cleared the cluster of trees and entered the grassy glade where Bartolo’s tower sat. Bly’s light spell had faded, but Bartolo was quick to cast another, and Bly assured himself knowing that his master’s would last for hours if he deemed it necessary. The luminosity was much greater than his, in any case, and a bright radiance filled the entire clearing to the point where Bly could make out the colors and details of the garden, the bench by the pond, and even all the little whirligigs stuck on pitons just along the base of the squat tower up ahead of the road.
As they stepped inside the tower, Bly noticed that the candles had not yet been lit, which told him that his master really must have only just arrived home. But one by one, the rooms filled with a warm, orange glow. Bly never thought he could be so relieved to smell parchment and sageroot leaves, or feel the croaky wooden floorboards beneath his feet.
They didn’t stop for anything however, and Bly was directed straight to the bathroom. Before he knew it, a hot bath had been drawn, and he was soon slunk down in the warm, soapy waters.
“Wash, and soak.” Bartolo instructed, as he laid out a fresh pair of clothes for Bly by the sink, “I should have some healing scrolls in the study for your injuries, as well as veilfly cream to ease the burning in your fingers. But Blychert… those are mana burns. In all likeliness, they will never fully heal.”
Bly nodded slowly, perhaps not really realizing the full extent of those words, or perhaps not caring in the moment. That felt like a problem for another day, and he was content to lay in the hot water for as long as he could.
“Blychert…” Bartolo hesitated, and he furrowed his brow as if heavily conflicted. He exhaled, and calmly looked at him, “I do not know for how long we can stay here. The administration in Darskaart may be few at the moment, but they will replenish, and their stalkers will track down the trail of your aura soon enough. The magics I have laid here will not hold against them forever. Neither of us is safe.”
Bly sat up in the bath, feeling more vulnerable than ever, as he frantically said, “You shouldn’t have helped me then! If I put you in danger—”
“There are perhaps an infinite number of things I should and shouldn’t have done in my life.” Bartolo interjected, and Bly felt his master’s hand pat his own arm several times, “With you, I will have no regrets. Now, rest. I will make all the necessary preparations for our departure.”
Bly’s eyes widened with a bit of intrigue, despite the awful reasons for their having to leave, as he asked, “Where will we even go?”
“It’s a big world.” Bartolo tapped his nose twice with a small smile, “Why don’t we find out together, shall we?”
Blychert’s heart lifted almost immediately.
All the emotions that he’d cycled through today, all the pain that he’d endured, and it finally felt like something good was waiting for him on the other side. Yesterday he wouldn’t have even conceived of a world without his friends, his home, or even a class, but now all he could think about was getting the hell away from this place. All he wanted now was to survive. No matter how meager, he still had his magic, so maybe something could still come of it?
If Bartolo said there was a world out there for him, then Bly was ready to believe it.
But then, as if reminded of the world itself, Bly’s heart skipped a beat, for there was suddenly a loud knock at the front door of the tower.