Chapter Text
“You have two options.” Master Beldaruit leaned his body awkwardly over the left arm of his sealchair. His eyes were tired but unrelentingly bright as they gazed up at Riliphin’s face. “I’m sure you already know what they are—search for a career now or continue your education.”
Oh, shoot, Riliphin thought. I forgot to think about this. I’m not ready to choose yet.
“I am not asking you to choose immediately,” Beldaruit continued, as if he could read Riliphin’s thoughts, “but since you have already passed your fourth test and I have heard nothing from you thus far, I’ll have you begin to seriously consider these choices.”
When’s the deadline? I need to know how early I need to start preparing.
“You have until the end of the year.” Beldaruit at it again. “I must warn you, though—should you choose to enter the illustrious world of employment, you will need to find a specialized master to apprentice yourself under, and, consequently, work harder than ever before.”
Riliphin was almost scared to ask: “And if I choose to continue my education?”
Beldaruit laughed, as if it were a foolish question not worth asking at all.
“Well, you’ll see. It’s not all about studying, though.”
To be honest, Riliphin didn’t want either option. He wasn’t ready to work hard, and he certainly didn’t want more education. He really just wanted to wake up late, wander some shops in the morning, practice spells with Beldaruit in the afternoon, cook a meal or two to pass the time, and then go to sleep, for the rest of his life. Not a dreary day in the Tower of Tomes.
But what he could see right now was this: If he chose to find a career, he’d have to study, but, ironically, if he were to continue studying, he’d have to study less. What an oxymoron.
“I’ll think about it,” he promised. Beldaruit, satisfied, puffed himself (or, rather, that smoke statue) away, with a burst of glitter. Ugh, I got fooled again.
And think about it he did. Riliphin no longer had spells he needed to learn, so he had no reason to continue practicing magic outside of his three witchly acts of service every month. The rest of his time was admittedly spent lazing around and thinking about the future.
However, it soon became apparent that thinking alone would get him nowhere. In order to take his mind off of things, he started following Beldaruit wherever he went and trying to be of some assistance. But over time, Beldaruit appeared less and less, to Riliphin’s great dismay. He chalked it up to poor health, but part of him twinged when he considered that maybe Beldaruit didn’t actually care about Riliphin at all. Maybe he only appeared to because of his duty as a master, and now that the apprenticeship was officially over, there was no reason to spend more time together…
Oh, right, he shouldn’t think that way. Besides, Beldaruit having poor health is probably much worse. There was no reason to be so selfish about it.
The end of the year was fast approaching, and Riliphin had only a week left to announce his final decision to Beldaruit. The latter still mischievously withheld details about what “furthering education” may entail, but the curiosity in Riliphin grew day by day.
This was how Riliphin found himself standing in front of Beldaruit’s door, a pre-rehearsed speech at the ready. He knocked cautiously two times.
There was no answer, but he was not surprised. Often, Beldaruit simply needed to finish a spell he was in the middle of casting.
One minute passed, then two, then possibly twenty clock marks for how long it felt. Riliphin knocked again for good measure, but still nothing. There was almost no doubt that he was in there. Even if his smoke sculpture form roamed the halls freely, his physical body hardly ever left his chambers.
After a while, it was obvious that Beldaruit was not in his room. Riliphin began to wander off, thinking “perhaps next time.”
Therefore, it certainly came as a surprise to see Beldaruit returning on the sealchair to his home just as Riliphin was leaving it.
“Oh, hello there,” Beldaruit began when he spotted the boy. “Did you need something from me?”
“Yes, Master Beldaruit, in fact—”
“Bel…” (Beldaruit didn’t much like the “sound of his name.” He thought it was too formal, whatever that meant.)
“Right, sorry… Yes, I just had something to tell you, is all; I have reached a decision regarding—”
“Marvelous, simply marvelous! I knew you could do it,” Beldaruit interrupted him again, a strong enthusiasm in his voice, “but why don’t we continue this conversation in my abode, where it is surely a lot more comfortable to discuss future plans?”
Riliphin nodded silently and let himself be led into Beldaruit’s “room,” which was really an entire building, complete with a Silverwood garden and a spiraling staircase. As he walked into the door, Riliphin couldn’t help noting that the usual spell sheets sprawled out across the floor of the common area were dwindling in number, and on the ones that were there, the ink was almost invariably dry. A faint, not unpleasant smell conquered the space, a smell that Riliphin couldn’t quite place but felt that he recognized.
Beldaruit’s sealchair stepped onto the staircase. Climbing stairs with a sealchair was significantly slower than doing so without, so Riliphin walked slower than normal in order to stay in pace with his master. To pass the time (and surely Beldaruit would be proud of him voluntarily engaging in conversation), Riliphin decided to ask about where Beldaruit was.
“Ah, it’s nothing much. Sinocia and the crew over in the Healing Spire are always so extra, insisting I go for a checkup and whatnot.”
Riliphin found it ironic that Beldaruit was calling someone else “extra,” but he didn’t say anything.
Due to his poor skills in interpersonal communication, he could not think of anything else to say to Beldaruit, so the time spent on the stairs passed, as many things did in Riliphin’s life, silently.
The scent grew slightly stronger as the two approached Beldaruit’s chambers. When Beldaruit opened the door and waved Riliphin in, he finally saw the source: strange vials of colored powders and liquids scattered around the spacious room. They were certainly vials of medicine.
Beldaruit heaved himself onto his bed and waved for Riliphin to sit on any chair in the room (except for the sealchair). This time, he chose a comfortable-looking couch some distance away from the bed.
“Now, down to business! Riliphin, dear, what was it you wanted to say?” Beldaruit scribbled something in his quire, and an illusion of three sparkling pegasi danced into the air. One of his simpler spells to start the meeting.
“Right, er… I’ve made a choice regarding my future…”
“That’s right! How could I have forgotten? So? What do you say?”
Riliphin took a deep breath and began reciting the speech he’d memorized before coming here. Not even a sentence in, Beldaruit waved for him to stop.
“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I want to hear it from you. Just tell me the gist of it, this old brain of mine has no room for fancy words.”
“Right… I chose to… I decided I was… I’m… curious… about the second option, continuing education.”
“Curious about it?” Beldaruit pressed, “Or are you committed? You shouldn’t have bothered coming all this way if you were just curious, you know. It would have spared a lot of stair climbing on my part.”
There it was. The ultimatum. Riliphin knew Beldaruit wouldn’t let him get away with hesitant language.
“I’m…” Riliphin took a deep breath before saying the word. “I’m committed.”
Beldaruit looked as if he could nearly jump up and down from excitement.
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes! I knew you could do it!” Riliphin wasn’t sure what the reaction meant, though he wasn’t all that eager to find out.
“So, now that I’ve chosen, you’ll tell me what I need to do?” Riliphin dared to ask.
“Certainly, certainly. You know a lot about the First Era of peace after the pact, don’t you?”
Riliphin wondered why Beldaruit was now talking about history, but he nodded anyway. The First Era was one of his favorite time periods, one of trial and error and setting up new systems, and he’d spend hours poring over books and maps. His eyes widened when he realized: His education might include studying about the First Era formally! But he was still too afraid to begin to hope.
“Then, I take it you are familiar with the then-popular idea of the Wandering Decade?” Of course. The impractical, frivolous chore for all graduating apprentices to first spend ten years to “fend for themselves,” as it were, before returning to their atelier and continuing their education. The practice itself didn’t even last ten years, but the idea intrigued a great many, and variations of it sprouted out here and there over the years, only starting to fizz out recently. Why was Beldaruit bringing this up now?
Riliphin looked up into his master’s eyes. To his surprise, Beldaruit looked almost… well, he was not far unlike his usual self, but his excitement felt a little dampened.
Beldaruit looked as if there was something he wasn’t ready to say. Finally, he said, “I think you yourself, Riliphin, could use one of these.” What?
His voice was so incredibly light that Riliphin didn’t pick up on how the cheeriness was strained. He thought it was a joke at first, but Beldaruit didn’t laugh.
“I’m serious. Next week, leave the halls and don’t return for another ten years. No variations for you, you’ll stay out for all ten. You’ll become a whole new person, I guarantee it. A witch who never leaves their atelier is one that will always mistake knowledge for wisdom. Eh? What do you say?” What??
The implications began to dawn on Riliphin. Then all the things he did not say, all of the times he had stayed silent, all the strangeness and surreality of the moment spilled from his chest.
“No, Master, I—ugh. A Wandering Decade? Who do you think I am? I don’t have ten years to spare! Please tell me you’re joking. Please! This is far too frivolous, even for you!”
Beldaruit didn’t reply. His eyes were cast down, like a child accepting a scolding. It was then that Riliphin knew how much he would regret his outburst later, but his mouth defied every burning thought and pressed on.
“I may never see you again! Don’t you know the rules of the Decade? I’m not even allowed to visit you for the first five years! This could be—” Riliphin’s voice halted as his mind grappled with the thought.
“This could be the last time I ever see you again. Your health is already declining, and… what if you die while I’m away?”
Beldaruit pushed himself up and onto his sealchair, laughing louder than was appropriate.
“What if I die? Hmm,” Beldaruit genuinely looked as if he’d never considered the possibility before. “Well, then, don’t forget to come to my funeral, eh?”
His eyes shone rather than twinkled, as if wet.
“Well, I’ll be off then, I have people to prank and smoke statues to make!” He was about to shove past Riliphin.
“Master.” Riliphin was surprised at how strong his voice came out.
“Mm?”
“That wasn’t funny.”
“What wasn’t?”
“The part about… the part about your funeral.”
Beldaruit paused.
“No? I thought it was brilliant.” He shrugged. “In all seriousness though, do you promise you won’t forget?”
“Don’t talk like that, Master—I—I would never have agreed to this if I knew this was how it’d turn out.”
“Ah, but you’ve already committed, so no backing out! No, seriously, please Riliphin. You will come to my funeral, right?”
Riliphin was scared; Master never sounded this serious. So he did what a scared boy would do, and said yes.
Satisfied, Beldaruit, the real Beldaruit, Riliphin realized, started climbing back down the stairs to the atrium that was his workplace, leaving Riliphin all alone once again.