"You want me to teach? I'm not even a good student..."
Camelot, Late 12th Century
Hisirdoux Casperan stretched his arms above his head as he dropped his heavy pile of blacksmith tools on the study floor. He eyed one of the magical suits of armor standing in frozen attention by the wall. Fat lot of help they are.
His feline friend was equally useless in chores. Most of the time, Archie was perfectly content to watch him from the nearby table. Currently, the cat was indisposed outside, chasing a stray gnome.
It had been two days since Merlin had rescued Hisirdoux from an abrupt execution, and he was finally beginning to adjust to castle life. He had never imagined that he'd someday set foot within the walls of Camelot's mighty fortress.
After two days as Merlin's apprentice, that assessment was still largely correct. Rarely had Hisirdoux had the chance to leave the wizard's study, let alone enter Arthur's glorious tower.
Still, it's nice to have plenty of meat and mead.
And work.
Merlin had promised to teach him spells. His descriptions of a sorcerer's apprenticeship had been vague, but promising enough to lure the boy into eager agreement. In yet another disappointing twist, the bearded mage's instructions had only consisted of common chores. Hisirdoux's excitement had begun to wear thin.
What was the old man looking for, anyway? An apprentice or an indentured servant?
It was at that moment that he overheard agitated voices echoing through the hallway.
It was then that the young wizard overheard agitated voices echoing through the hallway.
Hisirdoux jumped up from his seat atop the table and dashed for the study door. Crouching low, he positioned his ear next to the slight crack in the doorway.
"Rubbish! My apprentice is my own concern."
Hisirdoux winced. Buckets. I know that voice.
The other voice, that of a young maiden, responded to Merlin in her own harsh tone. "What will Arthur say when he learns where you found the boy? That you spared him from execution?"
"Tis none of your concern, Morgana. I shall deal with the boy as I see fit."
"My concern is for the child, not you." The woman, Morgana, spoke more sympathetically now. "Are you certain he is prepared for this burden?"
"You were hardly different during your early days," Merlin said. The voices grew clearer as they approached the study.
"I was older," she shot back. "He is not ready for the trials of sorcery, especially in dire times such as this."
Hisirdoux swallowed hard. I knew Camelot wasn't friendly towards wizards, but I didn't know it was this bad. I thought Merlin's apprentices were safe.
The quarreling sorcerers stopped in the hallway, not far from the study door. Morgana's next question was quiet. "Are you sure you can trust him?"
"No."
Fuzzbuckets. This just keeps getting better.
"All power is responsibility in disguise," Merlin's voice continued. "I know that better than anyone, and you would be wise not to forget it. I am testing the boy by fire. If he cannot bear the wizard's burden, then I shall release him from my tutelage."
"This is a difficult time for spellcasters," Morgana continued. "You know that. You're leading the boy into danger. The more you teach him, the more Arthur will consider him a threat."
"What am I to do then? Hmm?" The ancient wizard switched to a harsh, muted tone, as if to keep his apprentice from hearing. "Shall I let the art of sorcery perish? Neglect to share our sacred knowledge? Leave this boy to rot in the gutter?"
Hisirdoux's breath caught in his throat. He strained to hear the next words from the corridor.
The woman sighed in defeat. "He does deserve a chance at a better life. That much is certain. I simply fear that your teaching will only make things worse for him."
"Time will tell."
Hisirdoux scrambled back to his work as the door opened, ushering in the two sorcerers who would change his life forever. His hands shook as he grasped the crude metal tools.
Time will tell.
That means I've got a chance.
* * *
For two days following his chance encounter with Claire, Douxie did his best to get her out of his worried head. The shadow scathrune was now locked away in the wizard library's miniature vault, but Angor Rot didn't need his staff to cause havoc.
Except, for whatever reason, he hadn't.
Despite Douxie's extended night patrols and Archie's daytime recon, the trollish assassin refused to show his scarred face. His silence was almost more terrifying than an outright attack. Angor was like a spider on the wall, vanishing into shadow after a single sighting. No one could predict when he would strike, creating a torturous waiting game. Despite their enemy's silence, Douxie and Archie managed to settle into a routine of perpetual alertness.
Until Monday afternoon.
Douxie was behind the counter of the used book shop, texting his bandmates about his conspicuously frequent absences from weekend practice. It was difficult to keep coming up with new lies to placate his musical brethren. He didn't bother to look up from his phone when he heard a patron enter the shop. Most customers browsed extensively, never making a purchase. The customer in question was a different story.
Claire gasped in joy, covering her mouth with both her delicate hands. "You're here!"
Douxie dropped his phone in alarm, knocking over a pencil cup in his frantic effort to catch it, as well as several other dusty trinkets lining the desk.
Fuzzbuckets! Why am I such a klutz?! And why is she here? Bloody balrogs, where did I put those breath mints?!
Claire's smile was still spread wide between rosy cheeks. "I came here yesterday, but you weren't here. But it's you! You're the magic guy! Dirk, right?"
"Douxie." The frantic wizard gave Claire a nervous smile as he rapidly reassembled his workstation. After several tense seconds of scrambling for scattered office supplies, he threw up his arms in frustration, levitating the objects back into their proper places on the countertop.
"Yeah, Douxie! I remember you," she said, picking up a stray pen that had fallen from the desk's front side. "So this is your day job? Is it a magic bookstore?" Claire twirled in place, taking in the unimpressive view.
"Only sometimes. Why are you here?" Douxie desperately tried to mask his nerves as he steered the conversation toward pressing matters.
"Yeah, Douxie! I remember you," she said, picking up a pen that had fallen from the desk's front side. "So this is your day job? Is it a magic bookstore?"
"Only sometimes. Why are you here?" Douxie desperately tried to mask his nerves as he steered the conversation toward pressing matters.
"Oh! Um, I guess I was just curious," Claire said, surveying the shop with wide, luminous eyes. "You said you were the only magic person around, so I thought you might like the company."
Douxie's false smile faded. I thought she was here to ask more questions. She came to see me?
"Oh," Douxie replied with hesitation. "Well, uh, thanks."
Suddenly, an eager Claire clutched his left wrist, drawing a nervous blush from the British punk.
Douxie yanked his hand back in abrupt shame. "It's nothing. Look, I really can't talk about...that kind of stuff here."
Claire's smile finally faded. "Why not? Why does magic need to be so secret?"
Douxie absentmindedly slid his hand across the counter. "I guess because most people aren't ready to know."
But she is.
"But I am!" Claire's eyes pleaded with the wizard. "When I first met you, I was scared out of my mind. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. I just wanna know what I've been missing out on." She paused, waiting desperately for his response.
"There's a reason that the world of magic stays hidden."
"Can everyone use magic?"
"No," he replied. "It's a gift. You have to be born with an affinity, and then you need training to unlock it."
"So that gift is pretty rare, right?"
"Yeah. Most people die without ever learning that they have it."
Or at least they do in this century.
"So...it's kinda crazy that I found out, huh?"
Douxie met her gaze. "Why are you so excited about this?" Most mortals would be scared out of their wits.
Claire's gaze shifted down to her shoes. "Well...my life isn't exactly remarkable."
Douxie cocked his head in curiosity.
"There's something special about this," She continued. "About you. You seemed so sad that night."
Douxie's took a small step backward in disbelief. I was? And more than that, she noticed? Between all the crazy revelations, she paid attention to me?
The wizard took his time in responding. "So you came back for me? What do you want me to do?"
Claire's face lit up. "Teach me!"
"I'm sorry?"
She grinned. "You're magical! You can make pens float through the air! You can do amazing stuff!" She looked back down at her shoes. "You're like me," she said in a gentler tone. "You have a gift."
Douxie stared in disbelief. The girl was practically glowing.
"So, you can at least show me the basics," Claire offered. "That would be safe, right?"
Her voice seemed to grow dimmer as Douxie's pulse pounded through his head. Magic is a gift? It's been ages since I thought about it like that.
All power is responsibility in disguise.
She doesn't know that yet. But how will she learn if no one teaches her?
Besides, this girl had a face that was hard to refuse.
Douxie had never considered taking on a pupil. It had been him and Arch for almost as long as he could remember.
No.
I can't.
Douxie gave a defeated sigh. "No. I can't."
Claire blinked. "Can't what?"
"I can't teach you. Learning magic is a big responsibility. You can't take it lightly."
Claire's nostrils flared. "I'm serious about this." Her tone was harsher now.
"So am I." Douxie tried to avoid eye contact. "Look, it's not your fault, alright? The world of magic is dangerous. This isn't your problem."
"It became my problem when it showed up in my bedroom! And besides, aren't I in even more danger if I stay ignorant?"
"It's not that simple!" He crossed his arms."Besides, you've got a normal life to go back to."
Claire paused, her eyes wide. She stared at him with an unreadable expression. "So do you...right?"
Douxie swallowed hard. "This isn't about me. You're not ready." He turned his back to the girl, steeling himself for the coming objections.
Claire stomped her foot in agitation. "Then what am I supposed to do? I can't just-"
"Go home." Douxie forced himself to speak harshly. "And forget this ever happened." He took a deep breath before adding "...and that you ever met me."
Claire opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came out, only a rapid, frustrated huff. The girl took one last indignant look at Douxie before whirling and stomping out his door.
Douxie sighed and collapsed into his chair. That was exhausting.
But it was for the best.
She's not ready, and neither am I.