The Warlock

Dragons

Months passed. The Warlock and I worked and trained as the winter went by. Mostly I worked with alchemy, but he would set me any task that needed doing, just to "keep me sharp", as he put it. Sometimes, I felt like he would just give me anything he didn't want to do himself. The most important and dangerous tasks we always did together. I hoped it was just for now.

In Kadagv, I was seeing Kirra on a regular basis, though still in secret from his family. Despite what the Innkeeper had told me, we would only meet each other in the forest, somewhere private, and as far as I was aware no one at all (other than the Warlock) knew about it. I don't know why it was the way it was, except that sometimes these things just happen the way they do without your choosing. Kirra was... unwilling to talk about "us", and I was willing to give him time. Maybe he was worried about how his parents would react. Maybe I was worried about their reactions, too...

We still hadn't had sex, either. We would wander through the forests, kiss, enjoy the snow and whisper each other sweet nonsense in the shade of the naked oaks and furry pines. Kirra was a little ray of sunshine in my life, and I took our relationship for what it was, face value, and no more. I expected nothing—or tried to. I made no predictions and harbored no hopes. It was for the best.

Meanwhile, the village weathered the winter comfortably. There were some harsh blizzards and snow-falls around the New Year and in late February, but with mine and the Warlock's help, as well as the many hefty and helpful people in the town, we had no major problems. Snow is a lot easier to deal with, I found, than rain. At least on such a large scale. It doesn't seep into the soil, and it can be moved, and melted at will.

In the first weeks of spring, as the snow started melting, as gentle green buds appeared on the trees, and the soft, supple soil beneath all that snow was first exposed, the Warlock took me on a journey into the Middenswamp. It all began on a particularly warm morning, when he asked me how I was feeling.

"Well, fine, I suppose," I told him. I was a little busy—some snow had fallen from the roof onto the patch of soil that was our garden, and I was cleaning it away. "I feel fine."

The Warlock nodded and walked around me, down the perimeter of the garden without saying anything. After another five minutes (I was almost done) he said:

"Are you feeling old, apprentice?"

I frowned without looking up from my work. "How do you mean?"

When he didn't reply, I looked up at him. He was smiling.

"Do you ever wonder how I came to be seven-hundred years old?" He asked.

Of course I did. There was no use denying that. But in those first months there was also no use asking. Witches were mountains full of secrets, and someone like Daniel, I had no doubt, held the oldest secrets of them all, hidden deep. So mostly I let him tell me what he wanted to say, and asked personal questions as rarely as I could.

"Of course, master..." I began, unsure of where this was going.

"You're young, too early to worry about death, but perhaps you worry about your complexion?" he asked me.

"My... complexion?"

I stood up, having finished in the garden, and wiped my hands against my robes to try and get rid of the fresh, cold soil.

"Yes, your complexion—your youth!" Daniel motioned at my face, "You're nearly thirty years old, George. Soon everything will begin to sag, will begin to change, will begin to age."

I had never really thought about it before.

"So, I thought it would be best if I showed you this secret, now, rather than later. That way you won't harbor any resentment towards me in old age."