The Magician’s Apprentice

festering ooze. She wiped all carefully with a purifier and replaced the soiled bandages with clean ones.

When she had finished at last, the Sachakan’s visit was a distant, unpleasant memory. She packed her father’s bag and picked it up. Pausing at the door, she nodded at the slave.

“Rest well, Hanara.”

The skin around his eyes crinkled slightly, the closest he could get to a smile. Feeling pleased with her work, she stepped out of the room and started down the corridor to the servants’ stairs, wondering if her parents were awake yet.

From one of the doorways drifted a voice that sent her heart sinking to her knees.

“Have you finished, Tessia?”

The Sachakan. She stopped, then cursed herself for doing so. If she hadn’t, she could have pretended not to have heard him, but now that it was obvious she had she could not ignore him without being rude. Drawing a deep breath, she took two steps back and looked into the room. It was a seating room, furnished with comfortable chairs and small tables on which a guest could rest a drink or a book. The Sachakan was sitting in a large wooden chair.

“I have, master,” she replied.

“Come here.”

His request was spoken quietly, but in the steely tone of a man who expected to be obeyed. With heart racing, Tessia moved to the doorway. The Sachakan smiled and waved a hand.

“All the way here,” he said.

Stepping inside the room, she stopped a few paces away from him and concentrated on keeping her face as expressionless as possible.

From behind her came the sound of the door closing firmly. She jumped, her heart skipping a beat. Then she cursed, because she knew she had let fear show on her face. Let’s hope he thought it was surprise, she told herself. She realised she was breathing too fast, and tried to slow her breaths.

The Sachakan rose and walked towards her, all the while staring into her eyes. Someone had told her once that meeting a Sachakan’s eyes was to show him you thought yourself his equal. Unless you were a powerful magician, he might decide to teach you otherwise. She looked down.

“There is a private matter I wish to discuss with you,” he told her quietly.

She nodded. “Your slave. He is—”

“No. Something else. I’ve been watching you. You’ve got some unique qualities, for a Kyralian. I’ve noticed nobody here knows your true worth. Am I right? I could change that.”

He moved a little closer. Too close. She took a step back. What game is he playing? she thought. Does he think he’s so powerful that he can change the way we live here in Kyralia? Or does he think I’d fall for something as stupid as an offer of a better life in Sachaka?

“If I can’t convince anyone here that I can be a healer, I doubt it’ll be any different elsewhere, where people don’t know me,” she told him.

He paused, then chuckled. “Oh, the healing is only part of your worth. The rest of you is being wasted even more. Look at you...”

Coming closer again, he reached out and touched the side of her face. She flinched away.

“. . . those fine bones. That sleek hair and such pale skin. When I first came here I thought Kyralian women were ugly, but now and then I’d see one that changed my mind. Like you. Your foolish men . . .” His voice had been growing quieter and more intense, and she found herself backing away from hands reaching out to touch her hair . . . snaking round her waist.

“Stop it!” she said, dropping the bag and pushing his hands away.

He paused, then his expression darkened. “Nobody wants what you have, girl. So nobody is going to care if I take it.”

Something began to squeeze her from all sides. Looking around, she could not see any sign of the force pressing against her. A relentless pressure at her back pushed her forward. It forced her against the Sachakan, who laughed.

“Lord Dakon,” she coughed out. “He won’t let you—”

“He’s not here. And what’s he going to do when he finds out? Punish me? I’ll be halfway home by then. How many people do you want knowing, anyway?”

As he plucked at the front of her tunic she tried to move her arms, but some invisible force held them still. She could not move her legs, either. She could not move anything. Not even her head. And as she opened her mouth to yell she felt something invisible envelop it and force her jaw closed again. The Sachakan’s grinning, leering face loomed over her. Her skin crawled. Her skull throbbed as if it would burst.

Is he inside my head? She closed her eyes, concentrated on the feeling and tried to push it away.

Get off get off get off GET OFF!

Suddenly the force holding her melted away and she fell backwards. At the same time she felt a sensation of something pouring out of her. A bright, bright light behind her eyelids was followed by a resounding crash.

Tessia felt her back meet the floor. The impact hurt, and her eyes flew open. She scrambled up into a sitting position and then froze as she took in the scene before her. One corner of the room was now a mess of broken furniture. The walls were cracked. Black marks radiated away from her, and she smelled the acrid scent of smoke.

Rapid footsteps echoed from the corridor outside the room. The Sachakan rose from among the broken mess in the corner. He looked at her, scowling, then down at himself. His clothes were as scorched as the walls, the stitchwork and beading blackened. After brushing at the marks with no effect, his face twisted into a snarl.

The door to the room flew open. Tessia jumped as Lord Dakon stepped inside. He stopped, looking from her to the Sachakan, then at the damage.

“What happened?” he demanded.

The Sachakan said nothing. He smiled, stepped over a broken chair, and strode from the room.

Lord Dakon turned to her. His eyes slid from her face to her chest. Looking down, she realised the front of her dress was unbuttoned to the waist, exposing her undershift. Hastily, she sat up and turned away so he could not see her buttoning it up again.

“What happened?” he asked again, this time more gently.

Tessia drew in a breath to answer, but the words would not come out. Your guest tried to force himself on me, she silently told him. But she found the Sachakan had been right. She didn’t want anyone to know. Not if there were the slightest chance her mother might hear of it. As her father had always said, there was no such thing as a secret in this tiny community.

And nothing had happened. Well, nothing like what the Sachakan appeared to intend, she thought. She stood up and glanced at the scorched walls. I have no idea why he did that.

Turning back to Dakon, she did not meet his eyes. “I ...I was rude. He took offence. I’m sorry... about the mess, Lord Dakon.” She picked up her father’s bag and began to turn away, then stopped to add: “The slave is healing well.”

He watched her as she walked past him into the corridor, and said nothing. Though she did not risk looking too closely at him for fear of meeting his eyes, there was something odd in the way he stared at her. She hurried to the servants’ stairs, and down them. Cannia was in the doorway to the kitchen. The woman said something as Tessia left, but Tessia did not hear properly and did not want to stop.

The late afternoon sunlight was too bright now. Suddenly all Tessia felt was an immense weariness. She hurried along the road to her home, paused to gather her courage before she entered, then opened the door.

Her parents were in the kitchen. They looked up as she entered. Her mother frowned, and her father appeared to suppress a smile as she dropped the bag at his feet.

“The slave is doing well. I’m going to take a nap,” she told them, and before they could say anything in reply she strode out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Nobody pursued her. She heard low voices from the kitchen but didn’t pause to try to make them out. Entering her room, she threw herself on her bed and, to her surprise, a sob escaped her.

What am I doing? Am I going to cry like a child? She rolled over and took a deep