Excerpt: The Wise Woman's Apprentice

These thoughts brought her back to the spell she had just finished chanting. As she waited, she tried to push away the thought that the Calling Spell might be as faulty as the others she had tried. But how else could she find an apprentice? Who...or what... would this spell bring to her cottage? A figure was even now trudging up the hillside toward her, but it looked too tall and bulky to be an apprentice for a Wise Woman. Wand pulled her cloak closer around her as the wind tried to tug it open, and she squinted against the bright autumn sun. Her stomach knotted in anxiety; what had the spell called up?
Then Wand let out a sigh of relief as she recognized the bright auburn hair and beard of the village blacksmith. His usual attire consisted of long, loose cotton pants and a bare chest as he sweated over the forge fire. She hadn’t realized thick leggings, a wool shirt, and a long and heavy cloak would build him to such an impressive size. He was already the tallest man in the village, having to stoop to enter doorways, and now he looked like some great, wild creature from the forest come to devour a Wise Woman who wove broken spells.
“Fargale,” she called and waved, slightly embarrassed that her fears had changed a harmless villager into a threat. “Is everything well with you?”
She hoped whatever the problem was could wait until her apprentice had answered the spell and arrived. She had told only a few villagers of her need to leave to search out an answer...just The Peacekeeper, Inga the midwife, and Melle, an ancient woman who knew nearly as much about herbs and cures as a Wise Woman did. Jonas, who had held the title of Peacekeeper for over twenty years, could let the others know without creating a panic; the midwife and Melle could treat minor illnesses and injuries, for both animals and humans.
“Wise Woman,” Fargale’s deep voice rumbled in greeting. “How do things fare with you?”
“Very well, smith. Now, what’s the problem? Is it you or your mother who need my help?” Ordinarily, Wand chatted with those who came to see her rather than just launching right into the question of why they were there. Often, she could find out more about their problems in friendly conversation than from what they could describe to her directly. She hoped she hadn’t appeared too abrupt to the smithy.
“That’s good; that’s fine,” Fargale rumbled again, clearing his throat. He said again, less certainly, “That’s fine.” Obviously, something was bothering him. She moaned inwardly, sensing this was probably not something that could be dealt with quickly and easily. She tried to casually scan the hillside behind him, hoping to catch a glimpse of the apprentice the Calling Spell had summoned...that is, if the spell had worked properly.
“Fargale, I don’t mean to sound rude, but I am in a bit of...well, a rush right now, and...”
“You don’t seem to be,” he broke in. “You were just standing here watching the sun rise. You know, you look a great deal like your father in the morning light….his light brown hair and blue eyes.”
Why was the smith so nervous that he rambled on about which parent she looked like? “Yes, I did seem to be just enjoying the sunrise and nothing else. But, you see, I was concentrating on a spell, and I really have...”
The big man smiled. “Ah, but that’s what I’ve come to you about: a spell. See, I’ve been working since before sunrise, as I always do. Had my bit of bread and tea, and then out of my mother’s way...so she can clean up, that is.” He hesitated and scowled down at his feet as if the soft leather boots were pinching his toes mightily.
Wand hid her frustration. His mother was well known as a controlling and critical woman who had been widowed young. Fargale, at thirty-five years old, still lived with her. That situation could not have been easy for a grown man. So she said, as kindly as she could, “What is it you want me to do?”
“I’m not sure.” He looked up at her, still scowling. “I mean, I guess I need some sort of spell or potion. I was fine until just a little while ago, but then I began to hear this music. Like a song from far off in the distance...or some tune I’d heard before but couldn’t quite remember. So, I figured something must be wrong with my ears or my mind or maybe some other part of me. I know there is no one in the village who plays music like that. It wasn’t a fiddle or flute. Something else, but I just don’t know what...and I thought you could fix it.” He finished in a rush of words.
“A spell to fix your ears, yes. Well, lately my spells haven’t been working as they should...dead larks, milks cows not cured...” Her words drifted away as she strained to see some movement at the bottom of the hill. No, just a small bush caught in the morning breeze. Her attention didn’t return to Fargale and his ear problem until his shouting, right into her own ear, brought her back to it.
“What? Oh, I’m so sorry, smith. I didn’t quite catch that last thing you said.”
“I said,” he spoke clearly and slowly as if to a small child...or an idiot, “I can’t get my work done with this blasted music in my ears. Can you fix it?”
“Music?” Her attention was now fully on him. “You’re hearing music? How long has this been going on?” Wand prayed it was a long- term affliction.
“I told you, Wise Woman, just a little while ago! I was fine before that, but now I can’t seem to hear much else but this music. But I’m not so sure now you can help me,” he remarked almost scornfully. “You appear to have a hearing problem yourself.”