Chapter 21 - Bonds

That night, the two masters sat by the fire with their new apprentices. Four people, each with new responsibilities and challenges they hadn’t anticipated just that morning. Putt found himself feeling less jealous of Osapi than he had expected. Perhaps it was because he now had his own master. His grandmother, Avia, had been more resistant to the arrangement than he had anticipated. She hadn’t been willing to let him leave with Jadoog—at least, not yet. It was an odd way to show love, Putt thought. Ever since she rescued him, he had felt like a burden, yet now that she had the chance to pass him on to someone else, she opposed it. It wasn’t about money; Jadoog had made it clear that wizards didn’t get paid to take on apprentices, just as warrior masters didn’t.
After some back-and-forth, they reached an agreement: the four of them would travel together until Avia was convinced that Jadoog could be trusted with Putt, and until Putt himself felt safe under the wizard’s tutelage. Jadoog had questioned why they needed to keep moving—why not simply build a hut on the spot and wait for Avia’s approval? But Avia had seemed restless at the very suggestion, insisting that as a warrior, she needed to be on the move, to have missions to earn her daily bread. Now, with an apprentice of her own, she couldn’t afford to sit idle.
Putt understood, as he suspected Jadoog did as well, that Avia’s need to keep moving was as deep-seated as his own need for structure and stability. When Jadoog had explained what the coming years of training would involve, Putt had felt a sense of peace wash over him. He realized that what he had missed most since losing his home and parents was a sense of purpose, of knowing what to expect from the future. Jadoog had a plan for his training, a path laid out by wizards before him, and it was comforting to know how long each stage would likely take. It was stable, predictable, and safe.
Putt could now see the future in broad strokes rather than in fleeting moments. What did it matter if he had to keep traveling with Avia for a while longer before they could settle down for more extended periods? He had the structure he needed now. The feeling of tumbling down an endless hill had finally stopped, and he had landed on solid ground.




The next morning, they continued their journey. The path was Avia’s choice, and everyone agreed to follow her lead. Jadoog didn’t mind, but he was struck by her relentless need to be on the move. It wasn’t just a reluctance to stay in one place for too long; it was a deep, insatiable thirst to see and learn new things. Avia was a woman who would never be content with merely studying through books, as was common in some places. No, she needed to experience the world firsthand, to make her own choices based on what she could see, feel, and understand. It was a trait he admired and respected, though in Avia’s case, it had developed into something almost impractical. Jadoog also sought knowledge, but his needs required time, contemplation, and a slower pace. He wasn’t easily bored like Avia and could easily lose himself for days in a chamber full of written knowledge. Most people he’d encountered at Avia’s age had given up on learning anything new, content to wait for death. It could be a peaceful, happy waiting, he knew that. Many old folks looked back on their lives with satisfaction and chose to stop their journey long before they physically died. But Avia, Jadoog realized, would never stop. She would continue moving, learning, and fighting until her last breath.
Putt had told Jadoog about his great-grandmother’s rumored magic powers, which was why Avia had suggested the path of a wizard for the boy. Jadoog knew there were many out there who claimed to be wizards, sorcerers, or fortune-tellers without having any real magic skills. Some could mix a potion or two that worked, but that was more a matter of chemistry—combining the right ingredients—than true magic. It wasn’t much different from brewing beer or baking bread. The problem arose when these potion-makers slapped the label “magical” on their concoctions. True magic, however, was something else entirely. It was a power that came from the mind. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t an ability passed down through bloodlines. If someone had the ability to concentrate and maintain focus for extended periods, they could potentially learn the art of magic. But few did, and many otherwise capable wizards kept the knowledge within their families if their children showed promise.
Jadoog himself had no wife and no children that he knew of. He considered himself a skilled wizard and saw no issue in taking on this orphan boy as his apprentice. Not every wizard would agree with him, and even fewer would approve of him openly stating that the so-called wizard’s school didn’t exist. It was a myth carefully cultivated over the years by the wizards’ elite—a loose group of elderly wizards who could easily be considered a myth themselves if not for the fact that every real wizard had met them at least once, on the day they received the brand on their arm. That brand was how a wizard could distinguish a true practitioner from a charlatan without needing to witness any spectacular magic. Wizards didn’t seek attention or demand grand displays of power. They simply asked about the school. If the response included mention of the elders and the burn mark, then they knew they were dealing with a wizard approved by the guild.
Most rulers and people of influence had the wisdom or knowledge to hire a real wizard, but a few were duped into employing nothing more than a skilled brewer with a few dazzling tricks. It didn’t make Jadoog angry that these imitators could successfully mimic his craft; it made him question the value of his own skills. If so few could tell the difference, were his abilities even needed? As he had explained to Putt, using magic was a disruption of nature’s balance. He could read someone’s thoughts, create light, stun an enemy, and perform other feats, but everything he did had to be restored to its original state. The longer he let the light burn, the more he had to put things back in their place. It was more about shifting energy than manipulating physical substance. Occasionally, someone would learn magic on their own or receive poor training and leave their work unfinished. These places became unsettling for ordinary people, and strange occurrences would follow. Eventually, a wizard would hear of it and come to set things right, but it could take years, even decades, for the rumors to reach them. Even to wizards, such disturbances weren’t like a beacon. It was ironic that most of what ordinary people knew about magic came from those who had no real understanding or power at all.



Avia was surprised by how at ease she felt with her new apprentice, Osapi. She had thought herself too old to take on the role of a teacher again. If it hadn’t been for Putt becoming her orphaned grandson, she wouldn’t have even considered it, no matter how talented the prospect might be. But Osapi was different. He wasn’t a novice, and this was also her first time training a male apprentice, apart from Putt’s brief experience. She hadn’t given much thought to the gender of her previous apprentices—they had been children when they came to her, and watching them grow didn’t change her parental feelings toward them.   But with Osapi, there was something more. To her vast embarrassment, she found herself physically attracted to him—a temptation she hadn’t felt for anyone in over a decade. It was ridiculous, she knew that. She was far too old for him, and even if she weren’t, a relationship between master and apprentice was out of the question. A master needed to be objective, able to teach and discipline without personal entanglements. The idea of exerting that kind of authority over a lover, or being under their authority, was absurd. That kind of relationship required equality, where neither dominated the other. In a marriage, intimacy was built on mutual respect and understanding, not the hierarchy of a master and apprentice.
Avia was confident she could maintain the necessary distance with Osapi, both physically and mentally. It wasn’t difficult, but the surge of emotions had caught her off guard. Besides, Osapi was far too smart to be interested in her that way. Young people were naturally drawn to other young people; it was logical. The older generation wasn’t meant to attract the young—nature had its way of ensuring the continuation of the species. She could keep things professional, focus on their training, and suppress any unwelcome feelings.
Despite this uncomfortable attraction, Osapi didn’t make her feel caged the way Putt did. It wasn’t Putt’s fault, of course. The boy had never asked to follow her or to have his life turned upside down. But the truth remained—she hated taking on responsibilities she hadn’t chosen for herself. Osapi, who had come to her voluntarily, could leave if she told him to, and her right to dismiss him was unquestionable. Putt, on the other hand, had every right to be with her. She knew this and accepted it, but it still made her feel trapped. The sadness and guilt that accompanied this feeling didn’t make it any easier to bear.
Every evening, after they made camp, Avia trained Osapi while Jadoog took walks with Putt. Wizards, it seemed, preferred to teach in solitude, which didn’t surprise her. It reminded her of her mother, who had also valued her privacy when practicing her craft. One night, as they ate dinner, she brought up the subject.
“My mother used to say she was trained at the Wizard’s school,” Avia began, catching Jadoog’s eye across the fire.
“If she said that, I’m afraid she wasn’t truly trained as a wizard,” Jadoog replied, giving her an apologetic look. “There’s no such place.”
“So you’re saying she lied to me?” Avia’s voice was sharp, laced with disbelief.
“I’m not saying that,” Jadoog clarified. “I’m not questioning her skills or her intentions. But there is no Wizard’s school. It’s a long story, part of the secrets of my guild.”
“She did more than just powders and potions,” Avia insisted. “I’ve always thought of her work as magic.”
“What exactly did she do? Fortune-telling?” Jadoog asked, his tone more curious than dismissive.
“Yes, but also…” Avia hesitated, trying to find the right words. “She did things with her hands, shaping things that weren’t really there.” She studied Jadoog’s face, noticing a seriousness that gave her a chill.
“Before we part ways, you should tell me where she lived,” Jadoog said, his voice thoughtful. “There’s probably some work waiting for me there.”
“Because she was unskilled?” Avia asked, feeling a pang of defensiveness.
“No, because she was untrained. Magic has to be reset, and she might not have known how.” Jadoog’s explanation made sense, but it also unsettled her. She had always believed her mother to be exceptionally talented. Perhaps all daughters did. But if Jadoog was right, her mother hadn’t known everything she needed to know. It didn’t diminish her in Avia’s eyes, but it did make her realize how much her mother might have missed out on.
“Maybe we should go there together,” Avia suggested, almost surprised by her own words. She quickly turned her attention back to the dinner over the fire, feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable for having asked for company.
She caught Jadoog smiling, and she shot him an irritated look.
“I’m not laughing at you,” Jadoog explained gently. “It’s just… I’m not much for company either, but I don’t mind yours. It’s strange how things fit sometimes.”
Yes, it was strange. They were like the oddest of families, bound not by blood or intimacy but by mutual respect and shared goals. Avia thought about what Jadoog had said about her mother and their possible visit to her old home. Had her mother done something wrong? Had she been unaware of what she was doing? It was a disquieting thought. But at least Jadoog hadn’t reacted with alarm, demanding to be taken there immediately. It couldn’t be that bad, could it? Her mother had been dead for a long time now, yet the idea that her work could still have consequences lingered in Avia’s mind.
There was so much she didn’t know about magic, and now she realized she knew even less than she had thought. She wanted to know more, to understand the world around her better. It was natural not to know everything—no one could. But it was frustrating to find that something she had believed in for so long was less certain than she had thought. At least she wasn’t someone who clung to outdated knowledge. If something turned out to be wrong, she would accept it and move on.