Chapter 4. The Reluctant Master

endaran admired the morning mist wreathing the low branches and trunks of the thicket.  He enjoyed rising with the sun to steal a quiet hour at the edge of the camp before breaking fast. Birds chattered sweetly, bringing a smile to his lips.  His meditation completed, he hugged the thick bear fur blanket that normally graced his crude bed around his shoulders to chase away the autumn chill.  He fingered the book he had been reading the night before.  It was Thadeus Lamount’s The History of Tyria, Volume 1, a musty old tome he was currently borrowing from Uriel’s slowly growing collection for her planned academy of magic.  Glancing around surreptitiously, he drew a pair of brass spectacles from his pocket and perched them on the end of his nose.  They were a gift from Zhou that had made his hours of study bearable.

He couldn’t help but feel they made him look foolish and right now it was the last thing he needed around the Dunvael clan.  They already taunted his manner of dress and speech.  Pendaran was not amused.  He did not consider illiteracy and filth a badge of honor.  He resolved not to befriend any more rangers as he cracked the book open and the letter from Zhou landed unexpectedly in his lap.

At least he assumed it was from Zhou.  The elaborate green chop was his.  Pendaran remembered toying with the stamp during a particularly vivid moment of boredom in the study.  If only he had half a clue about what the rest of the letter said.  The Canthan characters were beautifully formed, but he had not yet learned how to read them and Zhou had not had time to help him get started.  Perhaps he should appeal to Nandao for help.

“Good morning, Pen,” came Teleri’s voice and he hastily shoved the spectacles back into their velvet pouch before turning to glance back at her.  She looked weary and forlorn, her golden hair ruffled and gathered into an untidy knot at her nape.  Her favorite recurve bow was strung over her shoulder while a second bow was unstrung in her hand.  Mabane was beside her, his own small bow clutched in his hand and an arrow nocked to the string but pointing harmlessly at the ground.

“Good morning, Teleri and Mabane,” he replied, noting that Mabane would not deign to look at him or greet him.

“Say hello to Pendaran,” Teleri instructed her son but he only scowled at her.

“I don’t like him, he’s a scounder.”

“Scoundrel,” Pendaran corrected him, “If you’re going to insult me, at least pronounce it correctly.”

Teleri looked scandalized but Mabane smiled and snickered.

“Do you even know what a scoundrel is, boy?”

“No, it’s just what Murdi calls you.”

“Come here,” Pendaran said, “I’ll show you what a scoundrel is.”

Mabane stared at him for a moment, his blue eyes bright with curiosity and annoyance.  Then, grudgingly, he set his bow down and stepped closer while Pendaran waited, his arms folded in an attitude of boredom.

“Well?” Mabane said.  Pendaran pulled a coin from his ear.  Mabane frowned, his thin brows turning down in annoyance, then curiosity as a second and third coin emerged from his ear and a forth landed in Pendaran’s palm after a small tap to his chin.  Pendaran smiled to himself, his old coin games coming back easily as he made them stand up in a row on his knuckles, then flipped them lightly so that the four landed one after another in his extended palm.

“Show me how,” Mabane insisted, intrigued.

“Scoundrels don’t share, I’m afraid.”

Teleri giggled as Mabane scowled darkly.

“Mother says you aren’t a scoundrel any more,” Mabane said after a few moments, his eyes fixated upon the gleaming dance of a coin flipping lightly across Pendaran’s knuckles, “So if you aren’t, you’ll show me how to do that.”

“Sit,” Pendaran said, “Next to me.  Watch.”

Mabane was entranced as Pendaran slowed his moves, showing him how to grasp the coin’s edge with the back of his fingers and misdirect with the other hand.

“The eyes are drawn to movement,” Pendaran said quietly, “You can make people look away like so.”

Mabane locked his eyes upon the hand engaged in trickery and smiled.

“Who taught you?” he asked, a curious question for a boy his age and it took Pendaran by surprise.

“My father,” he replied, “Mesmer talents were passed down on his side of the family.”

“Are you a mesmer, then?  A real one like my father?”

“I reckon I am, but I did not know your father.”

“I can scare things,” Mabane boasted, his eyes seeking Pendaran’s response.

“Your mother tells me you are very talented.  I do not doubt it.”

“Will you teach me to be like you?  Like my father?”

“A scoundrel?  No.  You’re on your own with that.”

Mabane scowled but a mischievous light was in his eyes and he pounced on Pendaran with a roar, bowling him to the ground.

“I want to be a mesmer!” he announced amid giggles and a light pummeling to Pendaran’s chest, “Will you teach me or not?”

“First off,” Pendaran gasped, wrestling the boy off of him, “We don’t sit on our Master’s chest.”

Teleri guffawed as Mabane resisted all attempts by Pendaran to restore some decorum.  He was very much a ten year old boy now and Pendaran was just another member of the Dunvael clan that he wanted to tussle with.

Pendaran grumbled as he rolled out from under the boy and rose only to be tackled around the midriff by the roaring child.  He flung the boy over his shoulder, laughing as Mabane pounded his back ineffectually.

“Enough, Mabane,” he said, “I won’t agree to teach you if you can’t treat me with respect.”

“I’m just playing,” the boy mumbled, growing limp.  Pendaran set him back on his feet and gazed down at him.

“You asked me a very serious question,” Pendaran said, “You deserve a teacher, but I do not know that I am worthy.”

“I don’t care,” Mabane replied, “I want you to teach me.”

Pendaran smiled in spite of himself.  He did not know the boy’s father, but he was very much aware of Teleri’s fiery spirit gazing back at him defiantly from those brilliant eyes.

“You won’t steal my Mother if I steal you first”, Mabane was thinking, “My teacher.  Mine.”

Pendaran was glad Mabane could not read his thoughts.  At that moment he was feeling humbled and more than a little inadequate to the task.  He was still a student himself.

“There are arts for which I barely have skill,”  Pendaran said, trying to discourage the boy now.  It was a job for someone like Zhou, or his father.  He had spent too many years being a lay about and a rake.  He would just do harm and waste the boy’s talents.

“Please?” Mabane begged, a genuine look of horror on his face now that he detected Pendaran was backing away.

“Mabane, I was a scoundrel for a lot of years.  I know so little.  There are better teachers.”

“You’re scared,” Mabane said angrily, “Everyone is.  I thought you wouldn’t be afraid of me.”

Pendaran felt the intensity of the boy’s pain and isolation.

“I am afraid that I will harm you in my ignorance,” Pendaran replied, “but I am not afraid of you, Mabane.  Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I have never taught anyone,” Pendaran continued, “You will be my first and possibly only student.”

Mabane smiled brightly, victorious.  He spontaneously embraced Pendaran, his raven hair brushing his chin

“So I guess I am your teacher now,” he mumbled, blushing as Teleri gathered them into her arms and silenced his protestations with a long kiss of a variety that made his knees quake and sent him into a rapture of delight.

“Ew, that’s disgusting,” Mabane squealed between them in delight.