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maplesamurai · 6 years ago

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The Witch’s Apprentice, Ch 7

Soon enough, and far too soon for the Butcher family, winter had come at last. The season’s snow had come as early as the last days of November, at first in the form of light flurries that melted in the sun as easily as the autumn frost, but by December’s second week, everything Arthur could see from the hilltop farmhouse was blanketed in snow, and icicles hung from every rooftop. In Arthur’s final month home, the hearth was kept burning all day round, putting the piles of firewood Arthur had diligently gathered in autumn to good use. But even in the dead of winter, there was still work to be done, and Arthur was happy to keep himself busy and thus his mind occupied away from the coming deadline.

As the root vegetables his family kept in the garden still grew in winter, Arthur continued tending and picking the turnips, onions and sprouts. While he now needed to be fully bundled up in his coat to do so, he also kept on working on whatever repairs that he not taken care of in the fall, mostly the barn, as he had greatly prioritised the house while his sister was still ill. It was around this time too, that the time came to slaughter the family’s hogs for much needed meat. It was also somewhat hard for Arthur and Morgan to part with the animals they had been tending to all year in such a way, but such was life on the farm.

What little free time Arthur had this time of year, he spent taking walks around town if it wasn’t too cold to go outside. He liked to take in the sights he had never fully appreciated, from the smoke rising from the townspeople’s chimneys, to the winter salmon leaping over the river rapids, and he also took the time to say his final goodbyes to everyone he knew outside of the family. Occasionally, he would still catch a flash of black out of the corner of his eye only to see a black feathered bird flying away when he turned to look, but by now he had grown oddly used to the possibility that his new mistress may be watching him.

On these walks, he would often invite Morgan or his parents to join him, wanting to spend as much time with them as possible while he still could. And it was his sister who accompanied him as he took his final walk among the town the day before the Solstice Eve, the sun slowly setting over the horizon.

The Solstice Festival proper would not begin until tomorrow night, but already Arthur and Morgan could take in the sights of the coming festivities. All across town, dwellings rich and poor were decorated with holly and ivy to ward off what darker spirits would roam in the dead of winter, and at the town square where months earlier the Butchers had sold their unexpected grain, priests of various gods tended the fire pit that would tomorrow night be lit for the festival bonfire. Lamp-posts illuminated the town roads, alight with flames enchanted by the local lord’s wizards to glow in all colours, while farmers wandering the streets spoke proudly of how large their sacrificial boars for the year had grown.

There were many holidays celebrating the Winter Solstice among the many cultures across the continent, but in the kingdom of Albion, the most widely practiced was the Festival of the Winter’s Hunt. When night fell on the eve of the Winter Solstice, the old legends said, the Elvenking would ride out of the Faerie Kingdom into the mortal world, followed the riders of the Wild Hunt, to judge each living soul they came across. Those the Elvenking judged as kind and virtuous, were said to be rewarded with gifts such as toys for children and coal to fuel a house’s hearth, left at one’s feet as the Wild Hunt invisibly rode past fast as the wind. Those judged as wicked and cruel, however, would be hunted and spirited away back to the fae realm, to what fate no one knew. These days, some would dismiss such tales as mere myth, only told to frighten children into behaving properly, but occasionally people would hear tell of those who ventured into the night on Solstice Eve never to be seen again, tales that convinced most to stay inside when the sun set this time of year.

Arthur’s family were always the sort to honour such traditions. After all, Arthur thought to himself as he looked among the ivy draped homes and the icy roads glistening under the light of dusk with his sister walking beside him, it certainly would not be the strangest of tales they discovered to be true as of late.

“You know, Arthur,” Morgan said to her brother as they continued to stroll past ivy draped homes, making sure to tread carefully on the icy roads, “I’m going to miss taking these walks with you once you’re gone. And I don’t think you’re going to see many sunsets like this inside that forest.”

“You said it,” Arthur sighed. “Part of me wishes I could just stay and spend all my remaining time just taking in the sights like this.”

“Well, careful now,” Morgan teasingly told her brother. “If you stay out too late, the Wild Hunt might come to spirit you away.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Arthur said with a shrug. “They shouldn’t arrive before tomorrow night. And besides,” he paused as he opened his hand to look at the Witch’s mark upon his palm, “I have the feeling they wouldn’t want to dispute a certain someone’s claim.”

Morgan looked at Arthur’s palm curiously, before saying, “You know, Arthur, it’s still weird knowing how you’ve got that mark on your palm when I still can’t see it.”

Arthur sighed. Just like the faeries that had accompanied the Witch’s healing spell, neither his parents nor Morgan had been able to see the mark on his palm. Melion had seen it when he arrived too late to stop Arthur’s bargain, but he was seemingly the only one other than Arthur or the Witch herself that was able to. He’d hoped to focus on the here and now and he came out for this final walk into town, but he couldn’t help but recall when he’d asked their Uncle Melion about the subject the day before he had left…

O – O – O

It was mid-afternoon on the day the Witch of the Woods had healed Morgan of the White Plague and restored the Butchers’ failed wheat to full health as well, on seemingly little more than a whim. After an unexpectedly busy morning of harvesting a whole field, one would think Arthur Butcher would be spending his free time at rest, but one would be wrong. Knowing how little time he had left among family, Arthur wanted to make that time count. And considering how little he could see his Uncle Melion even before the clock started ticking, Arthur wanted to take his uncle up on the offer he had declined the day prior.

So it was inside the Butchers’ family barn was Arthur and Melion were getting ready for the latest of the various sword fighting lessons Melion had given his nephew over the years. The two wooden practice swords the two used for these lessons were propped against the barn wall, ready to be wielded, but this time, the weapons were to wait a little longer. For this time, even as Arthur was putting on the gambeson shirt and padded helmet he wore over his clothes to these lessons, his sister was sat on a barrel next to him, not to watch the lesson as usual, but to continue to pester Melion about a certain subject…

“Ye’re really not gonna let up ‘til ah do it, are ye?” Melion sighed, clearly exasperated from his niece’s constant questions.

“Nope,” Morgan said happily.

“Okay, fine, ah can show it tae ye once.”

And with a sigh of frustration, Melion dropped down on all fours, and the fur cloak on his back enveloped his body, changing as his shape did, until the gigantic, but still human looking man was replaced with a sabre-toothed black-furred wolf as large as warhorse.

“There,” Melion growled. “Are ye happy, now?”

“Very happy,” Morgan confirmed. “Does it feel weird when you do that, though? You know, with your fur separating from your body and merging back with it whenever you change shape?”

“’Twas a bit strange at first, but ah’ve since grown used tae it,” Melion admitted, before turning back towards Arthur and telling him, “Ye just had tae tell her in front of everyone, didn’t ye, Arty?”

“Oh, I didn’t have to,” Arthur said, barely stifling a laugh, “but I’ve yet to regret doing so.”

“Of course ye don’t. Ah don’ suppose ye want tae ask anythin’ ‘bout this before we start yer lesson?”

“Well, there’s one thing I’d like to know before we start,” Arthur admitted. “Not about your enchantment, but about something that concerns the both of us.”

“Oh?” Melion asked curiously. “And wot might dat be?”

“Well, remember how back when the Witch healed Morgan, it seemed like only I could see those faerie like spirits she conjured? And back when I made the pact with her, she seemed surprised when I could see the magic of the contract.”

“So ye want tae know why we can see those things, but others can’t?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Well, ah don’t know much about magic meself,” Melion admitted as he made a circle to lay down on the floor as Arthur had seen ordinary dogs do before, “so this is mostly pieced together from wot ah’ve learned from me time with the Witch and from wot magi ah’ve met on me later travels have told me, but the gist of it is that most magical things, like fae and other spirits, are mostly invisible unless they want tae make themselves known. ‘Tis the same with the magical energy that flows through a mage’s spells and the like. Pretty much anyone with working eyes can see the end result of such things, but only certain people can see wot’s really doin’ the work tae get that result.”

“Okay,” Arthur replied, trying to wrap his head around the concept, “so what makes someone able to see magic, then?”

“Afraid ah can’t give ye all the answers tae that,” Melion admitted, “but wot ah’ve bin told is that some people are jus’ more sensitive tae these things than most. An’ that doesn’t just mean ye can either see ‘em or ye can’t; some folk can just sense the presence of magic an’ spirits an’ that’s it, some can only faintly see such things, and others see ‘em as clear as a cloudless sky.”

“And I’m guessing most magic users can see these things, right? It seems that would be an important part of their craft.”

“Aye. In fact, some wizards ah’ve met have said the Sight’s usually the first hint that someone’s got mage talent. It’s not always the case, though.”

This made Arthur curious. Could this possibly mean he could use magic himself if he learned how? Probably not, he decided, since he’d never seemed to be able to so much as sour a cup of milk. Still, it was certainly an interesting prospect, even if it was just wishful thinking.

“The gift can also be more’re less common dependin’ on a whole bunch of factors, like where ye live, wot lineage ye come from, the circumstances of yer birth, or wot creature ye are, as well. Most animals can sense magic around ‘em, fer example.”

“Speaking from experience?” Morgan remarked.

“Don’t be rude, Morgan,” Arthur sternly reprimanded his sister.

“S’ fine Arty, ah’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it,” Melion reassured the both of them. “’Sides, that’s partly true at least. Sure, we wargs are still a people in our own right, with our own language and laws, but we’re still closer tae common beasts than most races are, and our awareness of the magical world be no exception. Anyway, that’s how ah was ‘fore ah met the Witch.”

“And that changed when you became a skinchanger?”

“Aye. Ye see, one of the other things ah know ‘bout the whole deal is that inherently magical creatures can see magic, whether yer born as one, or become one later in life. So once ah made that pact with her, ah started being able tae see clearly wot I’d been sensin’ me whole life.”

“Okay, that explains a few things,” Arthur said, “but I’ve only started to be able to see these things now. If I have this Sight, why haven’t I seen any kind of fae before this? I’ve even seen the lord’s wizards do their magic, but I’ve never seen a flash of magical energy come from them when they cast their spells like I have with the Witch. So why am I only seeing these things now?”

“Honestly, Arty?” Melion said with the closest thing his canine shoulders could give to a shrug, “Beats me. Ah’ve heard that some folk don’t gain the Sight ‘til later in life, and there’s still others where their magic senses come and go, but ah’ve never been told why. Maybe ye’re just one of those cases, but ah’ve already told ye everythin’ ah know fer sure ‘bout the subject. Sorry if it don’ help ye much.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Arthur sighed. “I at least know more now than I did before I asked, so it’s not like I lost anything out of it.”

“Glad tae know ye’re always eager tae learn,” as he stood back up and changed back to his human shape, his furred pelt returning to the form of his fur cloak. “Speakin’ of learnin’, how ‘bout we get started on yer newest lesson. We don’ know when I can next give ye one ‘fore ye go, so ah’ll be sure tae teach ye some of the good moves.”

Eagerly, Arthur picked up one of the practice swords leaning against the wall, and his uncle made it over to grasp the other one. Then the master and student made their way to the mock ring at the center of the barn’s open space, and each made a ready stance opposite of each other.

“Well?” Melion asked his nephew, “are ye ready tae begin?”

“Ready when you are, Uncle,” Arthur replied, and both men drew their weapons…

O – O – O

Sighing as he closed his fist and lowered his hand, Arthur looked back to Morgan and said, “Maybe it’s for the best you can’t see these things. It hasn’t exactly helped me, after all…”

Placing her hand on her brother’s shoulder, Morgan replied, “Don’t you start moping again. We’ve got your farewell party to look forward to, so let’s live in the moment while we still can, okay?”

“If you say so. Speaking of which, you want to head home? I don’t want to be late to my own party.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

As the two started to walk home, Arthur asked Morgan, “I know we just promised not to dwell on these things, but I have to ask… do you think you’re going to be okay after I’m gone?”

“Don’t worry,” Morgan sighed, “I should be fine. I’ll probably have less free time since I’ll have to cover your duties around here, but I guess I’ll grow to live with it. It’s not like I’ve been doing my tinkering all that much, anyway.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed you haven’t been working on your contraptions as often lately,” Arthur replied. “What’s with that?”

With a deep sigh, Morgan began, “This… isn’t easy for me to talk about.”

“It’s okay; you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s something I’ve been keeping to myself for a while, and I ought to let it off my chest before you go.”

“Alright, so what is it you want to tell me?”

“Well… I never really wanted to spend the rest of my life on the farm. Don’t get me wrong, I like living with you, and Ma and Pa, but farming’s not something I want to do for the rest of my life, you know? But tinkering around with clock parts and stuff has always been something I’ve really loved doing more than anything. So I thought one day, I’d leave the farm, join a clockworker’s guild, and do that kind of work for a living. Sure, we don’t have one here in town, but I figured I could move to the nearest city and join one there. That way, I wouldn’t be too far from home if I ever wanted to come back for a visit, or I could just stop by if I was ever travelling through the area on guild business.”

After a moment to let it sink in, Arthur asked, “Why didn’t you ever tell any of us this before now?”

“I didn’t think I needed to be in any hurry is all. I just figured you’d be around to inherit the farm when our folks passed on, so it wouldn’t be that big a deal if I wanted to do something else with my life. But then I got sick, and it seemed pointless to bring up my dreams for the future when it looked like I didn’t have any future left. And then you made that pact to save me, and now it looks like it’ll be up to me to keep the place running once our folks are gone.”

“Morgan… I’m sorry.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it. If you hadn’t have done what you did, I probably wouldn’t even be here today, so I guess it wasn’t meant to be either way. It was just a dream, anyway.”

“I’ll… take your word for it. I’ve never really had any dreams or ambitions, myself. I was always satisfied to just tending our farm my whole life. So I guess neither of us got what we really wanted in the end, huh?”

The two siblings shared a regretful sigh as they passed through the town gates and began making their way up the road to the Butcher farmhouse, before Morgan asked her brother, “Promise me something, Arthur?”

“Sure, anything.”

“Neither of us can mope for the rest of the night. The last thing our parents need is their son being a wet blanket for his own farewell party.”

“I should be able to manage that just fine,” Arthur replied back with a smile. “After all, you’re the one who broke our agreement to live in the moment.”

“Okay, you’ve got me there,” Morgan laughed as they began to walk uphill. “But promise anyway, please?”

“Okay, I promise.”

Eventually, the two made it up the hill and saw the lit windows of the family farmhouse. However, as they approached the house, the two saw a large, familiar silhouette just at the door, recognisable even through the falling snow.

“Uncle Melion!” Arthur called, running towards his uncle at full speed as Melion himself turned around to greet him, soon followed by his sister.

Upon hearing Arthur yell his name, Melion, seeming to be carrying a barrel attached to his back, turned his back to the door, and with a broad smile across his face, opened his arms to accept a great big hug from his niece and nephew.

“I’m so glad you could come!” Arthur said happily, embracing his uncle tightly.

“Wot, ye thought ah’d miss me favourite nephew’s goin’ away party?” Melion laughed heartily. “Ah wouldn’t miss this fer tae world!”

“Glad to hear it Uncle,” Morgan said to Melion as she joined the embrace as well, before noticing the small barrel her uncle had strapped to her back and asking, “What’s that you’ve got on your back?”

As he finished laughing, Melion looked down to Morgan and answered her, “Oh, this? Just a cask of ale ah picked up on me way here to liven up the party. An’ how’ve ye been, Morgan? Takin’ it easy like ah asked?”

“Well, I did say no promises, didn’t I?”

“Well, ah’d hoped ye’d honour me request fer yer folks’ sakes…”

“Did you honour Pa’s request to play it safe on the job?”

After a long, awkward silence, Melion broke his embrace with Arthur and Morgan and said, “Well, let’s not stand here in tae cold! We’ve got a party tae get tae!”

“That’s what I thought,” Morgan said with an impish grin.

It was then that the front door opened, and Melion turned around to see his brother Harold greeting the three of them.

“Glad you could make it, Mel,” Harold welcomed his adoptive brother. “And I see you’ve brought the man of the hour back to his own party. So since we’ve got everyone here now, would you three like to come in and join the party?”

Melion looked own to Arthur for the answer to that, who smiled and asked, “When do we start?”

O – O – O

While the Butchers’ household was nowhere near as extravagantly decorated as the town proper had been, but for Arthur’s last Solstice, it was simply breathtaking. A holly wreath had been hung above the door, and the rafters above everyone’s heads were draped with vines of ivy, which hung low enough to nearly graze the top of Melion’s head. A roaring fire had been lit in the hearth, a thick log burning at its center, making the house as warm as a home of peasant farmers could hope to be this deep into winter. In lieu of the magically coloured fires that lit the town square, upon every table in the house stood a lantern with coloured glass that cast light of all colours about the house to the same effect. The smell of a hot Solstice dinner wafted to the door all the way from the kitchen, carrying the scent of roast ham, mashed potatoes, and sauce of plum and redcurrant alike.

“Now, this be a sight,” Melion mused as he walked in. “No matter how far ah’ve traveled, no matter wot wonders ah’ve beheld, nothing ah’ve seen ever beats a good Solstice at home.”

“I’m glad to hear you approve, Melion,” Summer said with a smile as she stepped out of the kitchen with a cooking apron over her outfit. “A Happy Solstice to you.”

“And tae ye all as well! Say, is this old wolf’s nose deceiving me or does it smell like tae night’s dinner’s coming along well?”

“Indeed it is, although you should be asking Arthur that,” Summer sighed as she handed her husband a pot of boiled greens to bring to the dinner table. “He cooked most of it. Harold and I were just taking over while he and Morgan stepped out for a walk.”

“Really, Arty?” Melion laughed as Arthur himself made his way into the kitchen and grabbed himself a cooking apron hanging off of the wall. “They’re making ye cook the dinner fer yer own party?”

“It certainly wasn’t our idea,” Summer sighed as she helped place the plum and redcurrant sauces on the table while Arthur opened the oven behind her to retrieve the roast boar. “Arthur was adamant about cooking the Solstice dinner. He was even hesitant to take that last walk into town until Morgan insisted he let us take over for a time.”

“Yeah, well, you guys have always said you’ve liked my cooking,” Arthur replied as he pulled the boar out of the oven and carried it to the dinner table. “So I wanted to take this last opportunity to let you all enjoy it before I have to go tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry too much about it, Arthur,” Morgan said as she followed her brother to the table, carrying the pot of mashed potatoes. “I’ll be sure to take over your share of the cooking when you’re gone. It’ll probably take a bit of trial and error to get as good as you, though.”

Arthur shuddered as he placed the roast boar on the table. If there was only one thing he would not miss about his old life, it was Morgan’s cooking. He had sampled his sister’s past attempts in the culinary arts, and while he would never say as such to her face, from then on, every time she expressed interest in cooking the night’s meal he wondered if the family hogs would be willing to share their slop with him instead. At least, he thought, he would seldom be around to taste her future attempts.

Arthur did not linger on that thought for long, as before the minute had passed, the whole Solstice dinner was on the table and ready to eat. Once the family was seated, everyone was given a wooden mug and their fill from the cask of ale that Melion had brought with him, even Morgan.

Looking at her mother, Morgan asked, “Not gonna raise an objection to this, Ma? No reminders that I’m still underage for the next three months?”

“Well, it’s a special occasion, so I can make a second exception,” Summer said before taking a sip from her own mug. “Just don’t expect a third time before your birthday in the coming year.”

And so, the Butcher family dug in to their meal. The family enjoyed their food and drink, which was followed by a dessert of Solstice pudding once the meal was finished, they sang songs together, and listened to Melion weave bombastic tales about his recent adventures (which were probably more than a bit embellished) as the hours passed by, and before long, the moon had risen high into the sky, shining its light through the house windows with only hours to spare before the true Solstice Eve truly began at midnight.

It was then, as the Butcher family sat in front of the roaring fire, that Harold Butcher stood up to make an announcement to his son.

“Arthur,” he began, “we know you don’t normally expect much in the way of gifts this time of year, but given how this is your last Solstice here… each of us has gotten you something as a farewell present.”

This was a surprise to Arthur. It was true that, because of the family’s lack of wealth, he and Morgan rarely received much in the way of presents. If their parents could afford to gift anything at all, it was usually something collectively given to both children, and if they were lucky enough to have to have Melion visit during the Solstice, he would bring Arthur and Morgan each something that he picked up during his travels, but that was all they could usually expect. So if he was receiving a gift from everyone here, then they truly were making every attempt to make his last Solstice count.

“I…” Arthur began, taking a look at everyone around him, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Ye’ll have time to find the words when ye open yer presents,” Melion told him as he made his way to a wooden chest by the door and opened it, taking out three gifts bound in string and brown wrapping paper, while taking another such gift out of his bags and walking back towards Arthur’s seat, handing him the first of the packages, a short and narrowly shaped one. “This first one be from yer old man.”

“Well, thank you,” Arthur said as he began to tear the paper off of the package. “Thank all of you, really. I never expected you’d do all of this for me.”

“Don’t thank us all, just yet,” Morgan told him as Arthur finished opening his first present. “Just thank us one at a time as you open them.”

Looking down into the unwrapped present in his hands, Arthur saw that it was a sheathed foraging knife with a pale wooden handle, which he carefully unsheathed to reveal a curved, silvery blade.

“Your mother and I have been thinking of what to get you for a while,” Harold explained to his son. “After quite a few scrapped ideas, we thought it would be best to each get you something that would come in useful in your new job, so we can still be with you in spirit after you’ve gone. I remembered that witch saying she’ll need you to go out and gather things for her, so I hope this foraging knife will come in handy for that.”

“I’m sure it will,” Arthur replied. “Thank you, Pa.”

Sheathing the new knife and placing it on the small table beside his chair, Arthur began to open the gift signed by his mother, which was flat and vaguely square shaped and felt soft under the packaging. Arthur guessed from the feel that it was an article of clothing of some variety, which was confirmed when he opened it to reveal a dark lime green cloak just his size.

“I know it’s a bit cliché for a mother to worry about her child being caught in bad weather,” Summer began, “but I can’t help it. You’re no doubt going to working outdoors in that forest, and I doubt that new employer of yours is going to give you a day off because of rain. I also thought to pick a colour that might hopefully help you elude the gaze of that wood’s more dangerous inhabitants.”

“Thanks, Ma,” Arthur smiled. “I’m sure it’ll help me avoid situations like my first venture into that place.”

While giving a slight shudder at the reminder that her son was nearly eaten by a monster that one time, Summer gave Arthur a warm smile and a nod, telling him, “You’re very welcome.”

“How about you open mine next?” Morgan suggested. “It’s something I’ve actually been working on myself, and I’ve been waiting since I finished it last month to see what you think of it.”

Curious as to what Morgan could be referring to, Arthur began to open the gift signed with Morgan’s name, which revealed a hinged wooden box, which Arthur opened too. But when he saw what was inside, he only barely managed to hold back his tears. Lying atop a linen cushioning in the box was what looked like a brass clockwork bird about the size of a chicken egg, with a wind up key in its back.

“Morgan…” Arthur breathed as he took the bird-like contraption out of its box, “you made this yourself?”

“Yeah,” Morgan replied, seeming somewhat embarrassed. “It’s called an ornithopter. I read about them in a book on clockwork inventions at the town library once, so I wanted to sort of try my hand at making one. I’d gotten started on it before I got sick, and by the time I got back to working on it, I was already thinking of what I could get you for your going away present, so the timing just sort of worked out in the end.”

Arthur legitimately didn’t know what to say. Just today Morgan had told him of her dream of becoming a clockwork inventor that she now had to give up, and here she had given him something she had planned to build as part of working towards that goal. He realised that his sister must have poured her heart and soul into building this gift for him… and he couldn’t help about feel guilty about it, even if he made sure not to show it on his face.

“’Ornithopter?’” Harold inquired. “Is that some fancy word for a metal bird?”

“Not really,” Morgan began to correct her father, “but it’s not entirely wrong, either. It refers to a kind of machine that’s built to mimic how birds- you know, it’s better to show you all. Arthur, put it on the floor and wind up the key, and you’ll see what it does.”

Curious to see what his sister meant despite his guilt, Arthur got out of his chair and kneeled down on the floor, gently placing the ornithopter down there, and wound the key clockwise two times. In barely a second, the tiny machine unfurled its wings, which appeared to be a framework like a bat’s wings with the gaps filled by a cloth membrane, and to everyone but Morgan’s amazement, immediately flapped those wings and began to fly. It only barely rose an inch above the floor and covered about half a foot of distance before it landed again, but it was still unlike anything any of them had seen.

“Morgan,” Arthur breathed, mouth agape in astonishment, “that’s incredible!”

“Thanks, but I don’t think it’s as great as it could be if I had more time to work on it,” Morgan said modestly. “It can fly up to just under two feet, if you wind the key all the way. I’m actually kind of disappointed that I couldn’t get it to go farther.”

“Don’t sell yerself short, now!” Melion contested Morgan with a hearty laugh. “Ah’ve seen the work of clockworkers’ guilds in big cities far and wide, and they’d be lucky tae have someone talented as you workin’ fer ‘em!”

Arthur couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable about that comment, no matter how well-meaning Melion was when he made it. It seemed true that no one else knew about the dream Morgan had given up so she could pick up the slack in Arthur’s coming absence. Even Morgan seemed to visibly wince at being reminded of that fact, which the others noticed.

“Morgan?” Summer asked with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, it’s nothing!” Morgan lied to reassure them. “I… I’m just really glad Arthur likes it, that’s all.”

Attempting to change the subject, Morgan continued, “But enough about me, why don’t we top off the evening with Arthur opening whatever Melion got for him?”

Arthur, just as eager to move on from a subject that was surely distressing his sister, did just that, moving on to what had first appeared to be a strangely shaped package signed with Melion’s barely legible signature, but upon closer inspection, was actually two packages tied together; one long and narrow, and the other short and rectangular.

“Two presents?” Arthur said in surprise. “Uncle, you didn’t have to-“

“Don’ tell me I don’ have tae do these things fer ye,” Melion interrupted his nephew. “Like yer folks, ah wanted tae give ye somethin’ ye’d get some use outta, and I jus’ happened tae git me hands on two things that should serve ye well in that forest. So no more complainin’ ‘bout it, jus’ go and open ‘em, Arty.”

Arthur opened the smaller of the two, which turned out to be a rather thick book entitled, A Manual of Monsters: The Comprehensive Guide to Magical Beasts & Spirits, by Albertus Magnus.

“As ye no doubt remember from last time,” Melion explained as Arthur flipped through the tome’s pages to view the vividly illustrated magical beasts accompanying the detailed descriptions on such creatures, “the forest ye’ll be workin’ in is home tae all sorts of dangerous creatures, so ah thought ye could use a guide on what tae expect in there and how tae avoid comin’ across ‘em. Ah’m not exactly a book lover meself, but luckily ah meet quite a few experts on such beasts in me line of work, so ah asked an old associate of mine tae recommend a guidebook that’s up tae date enough tae be useful, while still simple enough that ye don’t need to spend a few years at some royal university tae read it.”

“Thanks, Uncle. I’m sure this will prove invaluable.”

“Aye, it should be full of useful tidbits like not walkin’ in tae a basilisk’s lair,” Melion said with a wink.

“Hey, in my defense, I didn’t know what a basilisk’s lair looked like,” Arthur half-jokingly protested.

“Well, now ye can look it up in that there book tae find out.”

“And I was also trying to hide from a pack of wargs that had just come out of nowhere to kill a giant boar!”

“Wot, and ye think it’d be worth it for ‘em to chase after a lone, measly human after expendin’ all the effort it takes tae chase one of those brutes down?” Melion laughed. “’Sides, speakin’ as a warg meself, they’d probably be full after that. Those boars can easily feed a whole pack, but ye’d barely qualify as a snack, methinks.”

“Can we please talk about something else?” Summer sternly asked the two, clearly not fond of how filling a meal her son would be as a topic of conversation.

“Fair enough,” Melion conceded. “So why don’ ye open yer second one, Arty?”

Arthur did so, opening the long, narrow gift, which turned out to be a tool that Arthur had become very familiar with thanks to his uncle: a sheathed arming sword.

“Ah know how las’ time we discussed this, ah said how ah wasn’t teachin’ ye how to handle one of these so ye could go into that forest. But now, looks like that’s exactly wot ye’ll be needin’ one for.”

Cautiously, Arthur took pulled the blade out of its scabbard and examined it. It was a double edged blade just the length of his forearm, with a short, straight crossguard, underneath which extended a black leather grip ending in a triangular pommel. But what was most striking about the blade, Arthur found, was that the sword was not made of steel, like he might have guessed, but pure iron.

“Why give me an iron sword?” Arthur inquired his uncle. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful or anything, but I’m curious why that instead of steel.”

“And under any other circumstances, ah would’ve given ye a steel blade, but here’s the thing,” Melion explained. “There’s more in that wood ye need tae worry ‘bout than just beasts of the flesh. There’s also fae and spirits that can be more easily deterred by iron than steel.”

“I…” Arthur stammered as he slid the sword back in his scabbard, once again fully reminded of what he had gotten himself into when he made his bargain. “Thanks, Uncle.”

But after Arthur had put down the sword with the rest of his presents, tears began to well up in Arthur’s eyes, and he began to cry.

“Arthur?” Summer asked her son worriedly, getting out of her chair to be by his side, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s…” Arthur sniffed. “It’s a lot of things. A lot of things wrong and a lot of things right, too.”

As everyone gathered around Arthur’s chair, he continued, “I’m… I’m really grateful to all of you, you know?”

“Don’t mention it, lad,” Harold reassured his son as he placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s your last Solstice here, so we needed to make it count.”

“I don’t just mean for this, but for everything. We’ve never had much, but you’ve all still done everything you can for me and more, even as our home’s been falling apart.”

“Arthur, dear,” his mother told him, “you don’t need to thank us for doing what a family should do.”

“You’re probably right,” Arthur said sadly. “But it still just reminds me of how I threw it all away.”

“Look Arthur, I’m still not thrilled about what you did either,” Morgan told him. “But I probably wouldn’t even be here today if you didn’t. Besides, remember how you promised no more moping tonight?”

“Yeah, well it’s my party,” Arthur told his sister with a tearful grin, “and I’ll cry if I want to.”

“C’mere, Arty,” Melion said softly as he pulled his nephew up to give him a great, big hug, which was quickly joined by his sister, and then his parents.

“Thanks,” Arthur sniffed, “for giving me the best going away party I could have asked for… and being the best family I could have asked for.”

“Don’t thank us, dear,” Summer told her son.

“After all,” Harold added, “we couldn’t have done it without the best son we could have asked for.”

“Or the best nephew,” Melion added.

“Or the best brother,” Morgan topped it all off with.

But eventually, this night too came to an end, and the Butchers tired and made their way to their beds, wishing each other a good night and a happy Solstice for their final night as a complete family in this house.

All in all, Arthur supposed as he lied down to sleep the last night he would spend in his own bed, this had been the best Solstice party that he could have asked for.

But the fact that it was to be his last made this night all the more bittersweet.

#witch #witchblr #the witch's apprentice #fantasy #original fiction #my writing

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