APPRENTICE

Day one

The land was painted in a dark set of colors. The sun glared upon its provided canvas and pondered if it really wanted to rise. Quickly, it drew about a curtain of clouds to shield its eyes from the filth that it had to see every day. The winds picked up, tossing about leaves and angering plant life. But despite the hiding sun and annoying wind, it was a rather beautiful spring day. The temperature was a bit chilly, but not enough to require a jacket or coat. But longer sleeves were recommended.
Chimes chirped sweetly in the wind, bellowing out their content and whispering secrets to only those who understood chimes. Sadly, no human being did. Only the wind. And chimes. Besides the small chimes, a gentle, rumbling, and soothing humming echoed delicately into the air. A young man stood stationary a couple feet away from the wind chimes. He had a cup of freshly brewed green tea in his hands and sleep clawing at his face. Large dark eyes were hidden by a dark shadow cast by his bangs, as a result more than most of his face was obscured.
He wore worn out clothes, dirty and time beaten. He was covered in scratches and bruises he'd given himself accidentally over the course of a few days. He'd been hard at work, but what he was working on was a mystery even to him. He cast that aside. He was desperate to find something to take control over his mind and day. He needed to keep himself busy or else he felt useless. So he'd stay awake for days at a time hunting, fishing, building, mining, what ever he could find. But today was too nice to hide away in caves all day. He thought about how dull his house looked. He wasn't much of a decorator, he preferred to have as much space as possible with only the necessities, but this grew rather boring. Maybe today he'd finally make himself that couch or fix that table, find a bouquet of flowers to place on a counter, set up a small garden to show to the rest of the world. So many possibilities, so many things to do, but he lacked the desire to do any of them.
He brought the small cup to his lips and sipped gently, savoring the warmth and bitter taste. He'd ran out of sugar, again. He was always out of sugar these days. He had the greatest sweet tooth known to man, not exactly a healthy diet choice, but he didn't care. He loved sweet things. He finally decided on a task for the day. Today he was going to go into town and purchase some more sugar, then he'd make himself more sweets. Tarts, breads, cakes, cookies, and jams. He had been rather eager to try out his latest jam recipe. He'd found a small bush of wild raspberries and wanted to see if they mixed well with an assortment of other fruits and berries. He figured that they should, after all, they tasted just fine in fruit salads. Jam was just fruit salad for those without teeth. Having decided his plan for the day, he sighed contently and made to go back inside.
He had hardly gotten two meters into his sitting room when several odd shadows fell quickly about the floors. He pushed the shadows from his mind, cursing out birds in his head. Nothing else could have possibly made those shadows.
He climbed a steep set of stairs into his bedroom. He lifted a floor board to find his small collection of hidden currency. He was a very wealthy man. He'd often collect more material than he knew what to do with, so he'd sell the leftovers and make quite the pretty penny out of it. But having nothing to spend it on, it just began to sit and collect dust. He counted a small handful, sugar wasn't that expensive, and having calculated his needed amounts, he replaced the floor board and his it neatly with a hand woven carpet he'd spent weeks on making about a month ago.
He slid the cash into his pocket and ran to his closet. It was nice out, that he could agree with, but he'd be damned if anyone in town would lay eyes on him without his cloak. It was a long cloak, lined in a blood red silk. It was a grey tinted purple and hung close to his ankles. The sleeves were baggy, he hated tight fitting clothes. The hood was over sized, sitting on his head and doing its job all while creating and empty pocket that rested at his back. The hood cast an even greater shadow upon his face, hiding his nose and cheeks. Even the small stubble on his chin had been encased in darkness. And yet he wondered why he was so pale.
Having gotten completely ready, he rushed down the stairs and through the sitting room. He stopped at the door and gazed out the window. The clouds had abandoned the sun and were now circling oddly in the sky. They looked ready to storm, but made no actual effort to release even the smallest of raindrops. Just a swirling cluster growing ever larger in the sky. He'd heard of tornadoes, but he lived on a mountain. The mountains were never gifted with tornadoes, only the plains that lived south east of his mountain home and the village at the mountain's feet across the large winding river. There was no physical nor logical way that the swirling clouds would lead to a tornado.
"Odd," he muttered to himself,"very odd." He pulled his hood further down his face, as if to hide the swirling clouds from his view, or keep the swirling clouds from seeing him. He hesitantly left the safety of his home and began down the unfinished path that lead from his tall and proud home to the small valley below. A detailed path then ran through the valley to a graceful bridge that leapt over the river and lead into the village. The man thought about all the time and effort he and a couple of others had put into the path. The village was expanding greatly, becoming the heart of a thriving trade center. Travelers moved in and out constantly and many had pitched in on making the path, expecting that the village would eventually expand out into the Valley. But something happened. The people buzzed about it for days. Villagers dropped rumors and whispered tales, mentioning names that sounded familiar, but he'd never actually heard of them. He shrugged it off and figured that business had collapsed as some businesses do.
He thought of how the town had never seemed more dead than the week after the last trading wagon wobbled out of view. The path never looked so barren. He could still see the marks of horse hooves that sank in the soft gravel. He felt guilty for clearing them away with his own footprints.
He soon found himself lost in a cluster of tightly knit together buildings. Shop owners stood outside their buildings offering free samples and shouting at the passing crowds to come and purchase some of their goods. Times had never seemed so desperate.
He marched past each shouting owner until he found the bakery. Mr. Fritz was more than pleased to see his favorite customer return to the shop. He threw his flower covered arms out warmly, letting out a welcoming howl of joy. He moved to the counter and quickly set a large bag down before the buyer. He grinned at the younger man.
"You're late, James! I'd thought that you'd taken Old Lady Bethany's advice and hightailed it outta here. Ah well, how much sugar are we buying today, my friend?" The baker asked enthusiastically.
"Two pounds today, good sir." Answered the young man, smiling beneath his hood. Normally he hated the village and all who lived in it. He hated them so much that he had completely separated himself from them, isolating himself upon a tall mountain in a house he made alone. But the baker never failed to bring about a cheerful grin about his usually frowning face.
Mr. Fritz gave a toothy smile and went to measure the sugar, scooping large heaps and placing it in a thick woven sack. After weighing it out, he tied the sack shut and handed it to the man.
"That'll be one shilling. I'll let you have one pound free today, my treat." He chuckled heartily. James smiled back, nodding his head in both understanding and appreciation. He dug into his pockets to hunt for his change. He glanced through his curtain of bangs towards the window. He watched the swirling clouds grow darker. He could have sworn that they were swirling just a tad bit faster, but he couldn't exactly tell. He placed the coin upon the counter and took the sack, resting it on his hip the way a mother would a child. He pointed out the window questioningly.
"What could possibly be causing the clouds to act up like that, do you wonder?" He asked gently, so as not to cause any alarm. The baker turned his head lazily to peak at just what it was that James was pointing at. He squinted at the sight, removing his spectacles and attempting to wipe them clean with his messy apron. He replaced them back upon his chubby face and squinted once again.
"That's odd. I'd say it was a storm, but I've never seen a storm like that before." He commented quietly. He thought for a second, placing a hand to his bearded chin. His face lit up and he removed the hand, in its place was now stained more flower.
"You know who might know?" He asked giddily.
"Don't say it. She's crazy. Just last summer she thought that the salmon swimming up stream was a sign that the water was poisoned." James argued.
"That sweet little lass, Courtney Banks!" The baker cut in, clearly ignoring all that James had just said. James restrained himself from arguing with the baker. There was no need. He gave a small nod. Why not speak to Courtney? She may be crazy, but she could predict the weather better than the bones in the widow's back. He thanked the baker before turning to leave.
Courtney lived opposite of him. She hated the village just as he did, and had also taken to isolating herself. However, she complained that the mountain's pressure would affect her tests and their results, so she had taken to live in the outskirts of the Valley closer to the plains. Her yard and the road up to it was littered messily in a collection of rusting inventions doomed to fail. A poorly constructed windmill stood besides her house, and besides that was a well that was quickly falling apart. The small house was missing a large portion of its roof. Her front door was hanging from its hinges and ready to give out. The house's paint was beyond the point of peeling. The place looked more like a collection of abandoned rubbish more than it did a house.
Courtney was outside, her skirt tucked up in on itself, torn and tattered. People said that she'd worn the same outfit for the past year, and many believed this to be true. She looked absolutely filthy, covered in grease and smudged with mud. She didn't seem to notice or mind the dirt so much as she noticed or cared that she was flashing the entire world her undergarments. She was focused on another invention that had too many flaws in planning that no matter how determined she was, she'd never get it to actually function.
She had a wrench tangled in her long messy hair and was searching desperately for it. She was more than happy to see the familiar figure approaching. She ran to him greedily. Before he was even with in earshot, she began to ramble on and on about how she'd lost her good wrench. She bitched for a minute, standing before James before he reached to untangle it from her hair. Instead of thanking him, she slapped him, accusing him of thievery. James pushed this out of mind. He didn't come to watch the crazy woman freak out over her own mistakes, he came for answers. He waited for her to calm down and return to her work before he dared to speak.
"Madame?" he began, keeping his tone low. She replied with a sing song like little hum.
"Madame, have you seen the sky?" Courtney spun around, her foot crashing into the side of her oiling can, spilling its contents about the grassless ground and her sandaled foot. Her face was dark with horror as if James had just brought spiders to an arachnophobic person.
"What about it?" She asked breathlessly.
"Well," began he,"it's swirling-"
"So you see it too? Ha! Thank the stars! I knew I wasn't going crazy! And yet George had the nerve to tell me that I'd lost the last of my marbles."
"George?"
"Yes, George! He's sitting over there." She tilted her head towards her busted front porch and the remains of her door. Sitting in a chair was a rotting sack of potatoes. James glanced from it to Courtney. Perhaps you should listen to the potatoes, he thought.
"Yes, well," he struggled to regain any respect for the woman,"do you know what type of storm we ought to be expecting?"
"To put it simply," Courtney began, turning back to her machine,"the end of the world. James, I've always kinda liked you. I mean, I prefer your company to anyone else in that god forsaken village. Do me a favor?" James looked at her expectantly, trying his best to pretend that she wasn't showing him her stained undergarments. She turned to make sure that he was listening. Once she locked eyes with him she continued,"don't get yourself killed in the events sure to pass. Pack what you need and leave. Don't stay here, you'll die. We're all going to die." She sighed sadly then returned to her machine.
James stared down at the ground. He shot an apologetic look towards the rotting potatoes, feeling bad that they had to put up with the crazy coon all day.
"What do you mean by 'the end of the world'?" He asked, not taking his eyes off of the potatoes. Courtney cursed as her wrench snapped, a large piece happily imbedding itself into her palm. She winced in pain and quickly began to claw it free from her flesh.
"Exactly that." She hissed in mild annoyance. She threw the busted wrench far from view. It vanished in a pile of decomposing parts and pieces of things she'd stolen from either travelers who knew not of her ways, or of the foolish villagers who'd left their doors or windows unlocked. She turned her back on James once again and he vanished from her world just as the wrench did.
James wanted to stay and get as much information from the woman as possible, but the longer he stayed, the less sane he felt. Worried for his own health, he turned to leave. He had hardly reached the beginnings of her junk paved path when he felt a thin hand squeeze his shoulder. He swiveled his head about to find that Courtney's face was practically right besides his. He wasn't sure if his heart skipped a beat or had decided to just stop beating entirely. Maybe his heart was beating so fast that he just couldn't find his own pulse anymore. Who knew? Anyway, the woman had practically scared the living out of him.
"Don't talk to them." Was all she said.
"Talk to whom?" He inquired. She stared into his eyes, seeing past the shadows and through his bangs. She lingered for a second before slowly moving away, releasing her death grip and returning to her pointless work.
"Courtney, don't talk to whom?!" He called after her. But she refused to answer.
James stared at her for a moment. He looked slowly at the dirt she had left behind on his cloak. He dusted it off, hoping to get home quickly before her crazy spread like the rats in spring.