The screeching woke him up from his tired stupor. His eyes opened up ever so slightly, only to meet the inquisitive gaze of a spotted pigeon which apparently had taken a liking at him as it nibbled on his fingers. He just shooed it away with an irritated motion of his hand, narrowly missing the delicate contraption that rested on top of the table he had lain his head on. “Praise Syliana” was all he said as he realized he almost had destroyed what took him three days in a row to construct and the very reason he had lost a good night’s sleep.
Squinting his eyes at the late morning light, he studied his little artefact. It was almost complete now; an interlocking set of brass gears in a multitude of sizes was nestled inside an elongated frame made of softwood; the only thing missing was the lens, and this advanced sextant would be complete. He smiled at his idea; finally his master would appreciate his inventiveness. And then, of course, he would be the most important of his apprentices, dedicating time only to him, teaching him every secret he had learned throughout the seven -or was it eight?- decades he had been alive, and then he would be the Master Inventor of Limordia, and then-
A forceful knock on the door put an end to his daydreaming, and without waiting for a reply the door swung open as a large servant girl entered the room. She was raven-haired and pale-skinned, yet plain of face and large of frame, with pimples covering her cheeks and a pair of eyes that betrayed an intellectual capacity that rivalled a bovine. She dropped the large basket of unwashed clothing haphazardly on the floor, curled up her fists and placed them at her oversized hips. “Bin sleepin’, are we? You’d better git up and gimme yer spattered robes, I’ve got loads more work ter do and I ain’t got all day”, she said in a squeaky, high pitched voice which somehow managed a heavy accent. She glared at the apprentice who just stood there dumbfounded and blinked at her. Then, it dawned on him, and he trudged across the clattered room to retrieve a heap of dirty clothing, bringing it back to the servant girl. She just grabbed it unceremoniously from his hand and dumped it on the basket, ready to leave. As she turned around, he was about to slap her behind when he remembered that it was too much pain to be worth it, so he just let her leave and closed the door behind her.
Instead, his focus turned to the half-finished sextant that lay on his workbench. Pushing a few tools that didn’t need aside, he pulled it closer to himself and started fiddling with the gears, making sure they were well-connected. A few minutes later, he rummaged around his boxes and shelves, to return with a carefully crafted lens which he placed inside the wooden frame and fastened it in a special bronze loop. “At last!”, he exclaimed, savouring his moment of triumph. Except his moment was soon interrupted by a loud rumbling, a protest raised by his empty, just-awakened stomach. Patting his belly, he made his way outside the room and down the stairs of the attic, throwing a casual glance at the other apprentices’ rooms across the corridor; all doors were closed.
He nearly slipped at the final few steps, but he managed to keep his balance. As he arrived at the kitchens, he glanced around fervently, his eyes scanning the room, but he didn’t find what he was looking for, so he settled instead for a slice of bread and a chunk of yellow cheese that he managed to pry off the closed shelves of a cupboard. He wolfed it down quickly to satisfy his growling stomach, and hurried down outside and down the stairs to the workplace. And then he saw her.
She was petite, half a head shorter than him and miniature in form, barely weighing more than eight stone. Her lazy brown hair rippled every time she moved, and her freckled face shone with a radiance that captivated him more than the stars ever would. She turned around and noticed him, smiling as she carried a large basket of fruit towards the kitchen. “Good morning, Sol!”, she said with her slightly girlish voice, which send shivers down his spine every time his ears caught it. Her voice in addition to her smile caused him to lose whatever words were forming in his mind when he saw her, and he merely managed to stutter a “G-g-good morning, J-jeyna”, smiling awkwardly and waving his hand at her. Jeyna seemed amused as she giggled past, brushing up against him as she crossed the doorway.
He breathed hard, gulped hard, and found it hard to take a step away from her, but he had to else Master Horon would skin him alive for being more late than he already was. Sol raced down the flight of stairs in a heartbeat, nearly landing on the workplace besides a surprised Werl, one of the other apprentices, who shushed him and pointed mutely at the half-open door to their master’s study. From there, faint voices could be heard, and Werl seemed pretty intent on listening, an interest soon shared by Sol himself.
“So, Master Horon, I think we’ve reached the end of our discussion. I do hope you’ve been pleased by the offer?”
That was a voice he had never heard before. It was rather nasal, with a light southern accent, making it sound slightly melodical.
“Why, yes, of course. I shall gather all the necessary items and instruct my two senior apprentices to ready themselves as well, so I would like furnishings for three plus one servant.”
This was his master’s voice, the often harsh and argumentative voice Sol had grown accustomed to over the six years of his apprenticeship so far. But that was not what caught his attention- it was that he mentioned his two senior apprentices, one of which was himself. A journey? To some big commission, no doubt, he thought, and he shone in pride as he realized his master was finally considering him to be worthy of such an honor- and, with a little luck and a lot of hard work, he could finally put this dretch, Lorc, in his place-
“Lorc! Sol!”
Once more his daydreaming was cut short as his master was at the doorway in an instant. It seemed that while he was lost in his imagination, the whole conversation was indeed over and it was time for the instructions. A dark-skinned apprentice with coal black hair and sawdust-speckled robes scrambled along the workplace, dodging tables full of contraptions and jumping over toolboxes and spare tools as he hurried towards the now fully open door. He shot a curious glance at Sol as he arrived next to him.
Their master looked down on the both of them – Master Horon was a good four strides tall with a gut to match his height -, smiling under his large, greasy moustache. “Get your possessions ready. We’re leaving tomorrow at first light.”
“Where to, master?”
Lorc’s words came out rather hesitantly, as he knew all too well that his master’s temper, despite his age, could be easily woken.
“Did I ask you, you insolent little brat? Do I have to relay all of my plans and intentions to dim-witted imbecilic apprentices like you and that moron who’s looking at me with his mouth gaping?”
Instinctively, Sol clenched his jaw at the mental lashing he had just received, but he put it behind- in 6 years, he had gotten used to his master and didn’t pay much attention anymore to his harsh words. Lorc, however, gritted his teeth almost audibly, feeling rather annoyed once more- it was well known that even though Lorc was the most important apprentice, the hate he harboured for his cruel master was a fact only Master Horon himself seemed to not notice.
After a few seconds of utter silence punctuated only by the sound of the other apprentices working behind them, Master Horon resumed his instructions.
“You are to gather all your meager belongings by nightfall. You, Lorc”, he said, turning to the rebellious apprentice, “will get these…”. He fished around one of his many pockets for a piece of paper, and upon retrieving it he shoved it unceremoniously on his apprentice’s face. Lorc merely extended his arm, which was trembling ever so slightly, and picked it up, throwing a seemingly casual glance at it. “Make sure you don’t break anything”, Master Horon added before turning to Sol this time.
“And you will get these”, he said, his tone of voice somehow softening a little as he shifted his gaze to his other senior apprentice. “Make sure they’re fresh.” With these words, the Master Inventor of Limordia turned tail and retreated hastily to his office, closing the door in front of their faces with a loud ‘bang!’.
Reeling from the slight shock they had just received, the two apprentices gazed at each other for a while, Lorc inquisitively, Sol blankly. It was Werl who interrupted them, shaking both of them from their shoulder and taking advantage of their momentary surprise to grab the pieces of paper both were holding.
“Let’s see what we got here!”, Werl’s deep voice resounded in the whole workshop. He shot two quick glances to his trophies and exclaimed: “Weeee! Looks like Sol’s going to pack up every little crap in this place while Lorc goes out for the groceries! No, wait, it’s other way arou-”
Two fists interrupted Werl’s exclamations, one finding his flacid stomach and the other landing solidly on the side of his ribcage. Winded, he dropped the two pieces of paper and clutched at his sides, reeling from the pain. This gave enough time to the senior apprentices to pick up their pieces of paper, trading with each other to make sure they had the right one, and glaring at an annoyed Werl who was still quite eager to get out of reach. Lorc smiled benignly at Sol, raising his shoulders at their task, and as the other turned around he patted him sympathetically on the back, a gesture which Sol found condescending. Agitated, he shook him off and hurried towards the door, opening it with a violent motion and braved the light drizzle of this windy Selenday.
* * *
Well into the afternoon, a sodden foot crossed the doorstep of Master Horon’s workplace, followed by the rest of Sol along with three large bags made of heavy canvas. Huffing and puffing, he took another step before dropping them clumsily on the floor to wipe his sweaty forehead with an equally sweaty hand as he looked around for that cow of a servant- whenever he really wanted her she was never around. He took a moment to catch his breath and puzzle himself as to how he’d move them towards the kitchen, but since dragging them along the floor had the inherent risk of tearing them and spilling everything along the way, he settled for three simple trips, one bag at a time. And at the moment he had it all figured out, he heard a soft giggle from the kitchen and froze.
Jeyna appeared out of the doorway, probably having just finished some chore, when she noticed him struggling with the backs. She merely said “Oh!” as she brought her hand delicately to her thin lips, smiling at him as she hurried over to the travel supplies and offered “Here, let me give you a hand, poor Sol!”. It stang.
A stunned Sol managed to wave her away as best as he could, clutching at once all three bags. “No no! I-it’s alright, don’t worry, I can do it, no need for you to bother, please, no, see?”, he said in a rapid succession of words as he strained himself to lift them a finger or two above the dull wooden floor. He took a step, and then another, and another, as she just watched him with a simple smile on her face. His arms ached, his hands burned, and he could feel his back nearly crumbling from the weight and the exhaustion, but he somehow trudged through, one foot following the other. Sol felt wonderful despite that, as he knew she was watching him and admiring how strong he was that he could carry all this without help.
No sooner than he had reached the kitchen’s open doorway, he heard a giggle, and then another, shy little sounds that he was certain belong to the one who had stolen his heart. A smile formed on his own lips as he made that final step, turning around to steal a glance at sweet little Jeyna. She was there, giggling still yet inaudibly, looking though at another direction, towards the workplace, enjoying the strange mirth that whatever sight she was gazing at offered her.
Then Lorc emerged from there, smiling.
It was as if Sol had just been hit by a sledgehammer. He could feel the blood rising in his head, a trait shared with his master. He curled his fists into balls several times, minuscule veins popping out in his forearms and forehead alike. His color had changed to a light shade of purple, and he would have burst, literally, if Jeyna had not swung her head curiously around. Unintenionally, her eye caught him in a rather reddish complexion, and seconds afterwards Sol himself noticed she was gazing with her mouth open at him.
Without a single thought or even the slightest idea of hiding it, he simply stormed across the large hallway, his soft-soled shoes thundering ominously as he stomped on each of the floor’s wooden planks, as if it was Lorc’s face. The same procedure continued as he flied across the staircase, racing past his master’s bedroom and up towards the attic and his own little sanctuary. He slammed the door behind, the poor wooden thing screeching in protest as it dragged across the floor before finally resting in a half-open position as it bounced against its frame from the force. With a curse, Sol slammed it shut and pulled the bolt, securing it tightly to prevent anyone intent on consoling him from even trying to.
And then he vented his frustration.
He stomped on the floor, yelled loud, upturned his workbench, threw little gears and various other mechanical parts on the flimsy wooden walls of his room. His latest invention was not spared from his wrath as he grabbed it without even thinking what was on his hand and flinged it across the room. It hit the wall with a myriad of little metallic-on-wood clanks and thuds, supplemented by the sound of finely crafted glass shattering into tiny bits and pieces that showered the rest of the little bronze parts that now littered the floor. The sextant’s cracked wooden frame lay sadly on the floor like the skeleton of some poor little creature, a remnant of Sol’s outburst.
Yet it didn’t stop him. He went on and on, raging against the contents of his room, kicking the wooden bench into oblivion regardless of the blistering and swollen state of his foot. His rant would go on without stopping before he dropped from exhaustion, but a knock on the door gave him a pause of a few seconds, time enough to hear Lorc’s words muffled beyond the wooden door.
A sudden urge to open the door and beat Lorc’s ungainly dark-skinned face to a bloody pulp, and he did take a few steps. Unfortunately, that was enough to reach the door and pull the bolt and swing the door open forcefully. Lorc was there standing stunned, looking at a puffed and red-faced Sol who gazed at him with undue hatred. He seemed to have no idea at what was happening- even when Sol’s large, swollen fist came down hard on his face.
Caught unaware, the fist hit him square on his nose, and the sound of broken bone permeated the attic for a second. Lorc yelped in pain, taking a clumsy, stunned step backwards which resulted in him losing his balance and falling on his behind with a thud. Sol towered over him, seventeen full stone of fury above a bloodied Lorc, raising his fist one more. “Sol, for the love of Melora, what are you doing?”, came Lorc’s muffled exclamation as his hand tried to stop the flow of blood from his broken nose.
It seemed that his fellow apprentice’s shaken words put some sense into him. He lowered his fist, which now he felt it throbbing ever so slightly, as if the feeling came from a long time ago and just an echo remained to remind him it hurt. Lorc stumbled to his feet, looking warily at Sol and ready to defend himself this time. Instead, Sol, barely restraining himself, managed to put together a few words of pure rage: “You… out… my… sight… NOW!”. The ‘now’, already thunderously loud, was augmented by Sol’s foot stomping on the creaking floor’s attic. Lorc stood there speechless, clutching his bloodied face with both hands as ‘now’ reverberated across the attic and probably the rest of the two-storied building as well. Then he took a step backwards, and then another, until he reached the stairs.
As his hated rival retreated down the flight of stairs, Sol took a big gulp, feeling the coppery taste of blood on his own mouth and a sting on his tongue- probably at some point during his rage he bit it. Panting heavily as his rage subsided at a quick pace, he could feel both of his hands throbbing, and when he turned his eyes to them he saw two large, swollen pieces of flesh, reddish and torn at various places. But the now calmed Sol was not prepared for what he was about to face.
He turned his back and gave the half-open door a shove. He felt like a bull had been let loose in his little attic room, his sanctuary for the past 18 years. Pieces of his research and his works lay broken and shattered, parts and gears strewn across a floor where a million fragments of glass glittered in the afternoon sunlight that entered from his only window. Sol turned his gaze from one broken contraption to the next, until it finally rested in the utterly destroyed sextant that had been thrown at the wall.
The now exhausted apprentice felt his knees weak and his eyes watering. Giving in, he merely fell to the floor, getting his hands cut by the glass he clutched powerlessly, as he cried.
