The Magician’s Apprentice

saw. A slave – his friend – pinned to the ground, his legs crushed. The other slaves ignored the injured man and his screams, and set to work cutting.

Hanara jolted awake. For a moment he blinked at the darkness. The air smelled wrong.

Kyralia, he remembered. I’m in Kyralia, in the house of a magician. I’m hurt. Must heal quickly so Takado doesn’t kill me when he comes back. He closed his eyes.

He was cutting and shaping wood. He loved how it peeled away under the blade. Once you understood the patterns of the grain, how it resisted some cuts and welcomed others, it was easy work. All the information you needed was there, written in the grain. He imagined reading was the same.

He heard the timber master come up behind him to watch. He couldn’t see the man, but he knew who it was. If he stopped to look, the man would whip him, so he kept working. Perhaps if Hanara demonstrated how he could read the wood, the man would teach him how to do the decorative work on the mansion rather than making palings for the slave-house fences.

A few more cuts and the paling was done. It was perfect, too good for a mere slave fence. He turned to show the timber master.

It wasn’t the timber master standing behind him. It was Ashaki Takado. Hanara froze, his heart suddenly beating wildly, then dropped to the ground. The magician, owner of the house and slaves and forest and fields, stepped close and ordered Hanara to stand up, then stared into his face. Hanara lowered his eyes. The magician grabbed his jaw and lifted it, his gaze boring into Hanara’s. But the magician’s gaze didn’t meet Hanara’s. It went beyond. Inside. Takado’s eyes blazed.

Then the master was gone. The plank was removed from Hanara’s hand and he was taken away from the slave yard. His arms hurt. The world whirled around him. Looking down, he saw that his skin was criss- crossed by countless scars and new bleeding cuts. Takado was looming over him, laughing.

Are you a good slave? he asked. Are you? He raised an arm, in his hands a glittering curved blade...

Hanara jolted awake again, but this time he found himself stiff, in pain and breathing hard. Kyralia. House of a magician. Hurt. Must heal before Takado— He heard voices and a shiver ran down his spine. The voices came closer. Stopped outside the door to his room.

He took slow, deep breaths and willed his heart to stop racing.

It refused.

The door creaked open and light spilled in. Hanara recognised the healer, the young woman who assisted him, and Lord Dakon. He sank into the bed with relief.

“Sorry for waking you, Hanara,” the healer said. “Since I was here, I thought I’d check on you. How are you feeling?”

Hanara looked at all the expectant faces, then reluctantly croaked an answer.

“Better.”

The healer nodded. His daughter smiled. Seeing the warmth in her eyes, Hanara felt his heart constrict again. Looking at her was not unlike watching a newborn slave child, vulnerable and ignorant. But when looking at the slave child, he also felt sympathy and sadness. He knew the hardship and pain it would face and hoped that it would be strong enough, and lucky enough, to achieve a feeling of long-life.

Hanara did not yet feel he’d reached long-life. It was a state, slaves said, where you felt satisfied you had lived long enough. Where you didn’t feel cheated if you died. You might not have had an easy life, or a happy one, but you’d had your measure. Or you had made a difference to the world, even a small one, because you had existed.

He’d known slaves who had said they’d reached that state in under twenty years, and old slaves who still didn’t feel they’d achieved it yet. Some said it came when they’d sired or birthed a child. Some said it happened when they had completed the best work they’d ever done. Some said it was an unexpected benefit of helping another slave. Some even said it came from serving their master well and loyally.

It was said most slaves never felt it. Hanara hadn’t felt it even when a child he suspected he’d fathered had been born. He’d never had a chance to make his best work with wood. He’d helped other slaves in only minor ways, which didn’t give him any great feeling of satisfaction. Serving Takado was probably the only chance he’d have of feeling long-life. Ironically, it was also likely to lead to his dying before he had that chance.

And what chance was there now that he was stuck in Kyralia?

As the healer fussed and poked at Hanara he asked many questions. Hanara said as little as possible. Though none of the questions were about anything but his wounds and his health, he could never be sure whether he was revealing anything he shouldn’t. Takado had warned him of that, before they came to Kyralia.

Eventually the healer turned to the magician. “

He’s healing fast. Better than I expected. I have no doubts now that he’ll recover. It’s quite extraordinary.”

The magician’s lips thinned into a wry smile. “Hanara was Takado’s source slave. Though he cannot use his magic, it still gives him the same advantages of fast healing and resilience that all magicians enjoy.”

The healer nodded. “Lucky man.”

“So this healing is automatic?” the young woman asked. “Unconscious?”

The magician smiled at her. “Yes. You have this ability, too. Have you not always healed quickly, and rarely sickened?”

She paused at that, as if it had only just occurred to her, then nodded. “So if we could find a way to consciously heal, could we apply it to others?”

“Maybe,” the magician replied. “Magicians must have tried it before, but with no success, so I doubt it is easy – if it is possible at all.”

Her eyes shifted to Hanara. He could tell her attention was more on whatever thoughts this discussion had stirred than on himself. The magician followed her gaze, then met Hanara’s eyes.

“Sounds like you’ll be up and about soon, Hanara,” he said. “Takado said that if you recovered I could do whatever I wished with you. Since slavery is outlawed here, that means you can no longer be a slave.” He smiled. “You are free.”

A thrill ran through Hanara. Free? Could he really stay here, in this dream-like land of gentle people? Would he be given reward in return for work, and choose what to do with it – to travel, to learn to read, to form bonds with people... have friends, a woman who wasn’t indifferent to him, children he could raise in kindness and have some hope of protecting from—

No. A wave of sickening realisation brought him back to reality. Takado only said Lord Dakon could do whatever he wanted with me because if he had revealed he was coming back for me, Lord Dakon might have tried to hide me away.

He might still, if Hanara told him the truth.

He wouldn’t do it well enough, because he doesn’t know Takado. Takado loves a hunt. He will track me down. He’ll find me. He’ll read my mind and find out I ran away from him. Then he’ll kill me. No. I’m better off waiting until he returns.

And enjoying what freedom he could have in the meantime.

But at that thought his stomach sank again.

Or does he expect me to go home as soon as I’m able to? Will he only return here if I don’t? Only punish me if I stay here?

The visitors were leaving now. Hanara watched them go, envying them their freedom, yet at the same time despising them for their ignorance. They knew nothing. They were fools. Takado would return.

CHAPTER 7

After opening her eyes the next morning, Tessia spent a long moment lying in bed gazing at the room she had slept in.

She could not quite believe it was hers.

The walls were painted the colour of a summer sky. A night-wood screen covered the enormous window. The large chests, cupboards, desk, chair and bed were made of the same rare and expensive timber. The covering on her bed was quilted and made of the softest cloth she had ever touched, and the mattress beneath was even and slightly spongy.