FFM13: Birth of a Dark Wizard

Alana stared at the letter, her stomach churning. The rejection hadn't been that much of a surprise, but it was still hard to swallow. She had high marks in all her classes and it still hadn't been enough for Master Hector. He had chosen another apprentice for the apprenticeship.

Again.

“Just work harder. It will turn out right, “ Douglas said.

She stared at him until he looked away. This was the fifth time she'd been rejected. Officially, the reasons had all been the same, “You're just not what we're looking for.” Unofficially, she'd been informed she would never be what they were looking for---she should quit now and find a nice young man to occupy her time. She wasn't wanted here. If it wasn't for her father, she would have been laughed out before she finished applying.

“Just work harder,” she repeated.

He had to know he said the wrong thing again. She complained enough already about all the kitchen work the master wizards had given her. She scrubbed dishes until her fingers were raw. She went to bed late after the other apprentices were asleep and woke early to help cook start breakfast. She barely had enough time to go to class and finish her homework, and somehow managed to stay at the top of the class. If she worked any harder, she'd drop dead.

Sometimes she wondered if that was what they wanted her to do.

“I mean, I know it looks bad now, but you just have to buckle down. Ask Master Hector if he needs someone to help organize his notes or tidy up the labs. I know he's always complaining about needing more help. You'll feel so much better. All this free time just gives you time to feel bad about yourself.”

She wanted to remind him of just how many work hours he'd been assigned compared to hers, but thought better of it. They'd had that argument before. He didn't understand.

The worst part of everything was how little magic she was allowed to use to complete the assigned chores. Magic wasn't allowed around the food for mysterious reasons. If she wanted to practice while she worked, she was out of luck. She had to wait until after dark when it technically wasn't allowed.

“And just where is all this free time I supposedly have, Douglas?” she asked.

“Right now, for instance. You aren't doing anything and you're miserable,” he said.

“It's my half hour for lunch? You're saying I shouldn't have time to eat?”

He scowled.

“No, of course not, you're being irrational. I think you just want to be angry.”

“I want to be taken seriously. Inundating me with kitchen work while you and the other boys get to run off and practice levitation and evocation and summoning---how is that fair?”

He looked uncomfortable again.

“Someone has to help the cook,” he said, “You're a girl. It comes easy for you.”

“Well you can learn. I had to.”

“No. I have my chore list and you have yours, thank the gods,” he said.

He wasn't the only one who said things like that. In this age, it was expected for the women to take charge of the kitchen while the men occupied themselves elsewhere. It didn't matter how much magical talent she had or how much she wanted to be a wizard. Her gender had confined her to a life of cooking and cleaning and marriage and eternal drudgery.

The wizards were never going to take her seriously and let her have one of the traditional apprenticeships. They wouldn't have let her into the school at all if not for the influence of her father, Master wizard of the Southern Seas.

She'd been casting storm spells from the cradle and it didn't matter. She should just give up, find a man, and give birth like a good little girl.

“If the cook needs so much help, maybe more of the apprentices could chip in,” she said, “It shouldn't all fall on me just because I'm a girl. If you think peeling potatoes and emptying refuse buckets is so important for good mental health, you do it.”

“You're twisting my words. I just don't care. I don't want to talk about this anymore. You're too emotional.” Douglas dug into his stew, sloshing drops down his chin. She tried to follow his example, but her appetite was gone. She crumpled her rejection letter and levitated it into the trash. Then she set it on fire.

Douglas pretended not to watch---he hadn't mastered levitation yet. Or wizard's fire.

“I just don't understand how you can sit there and not care,” she said.

“Well, I don't care. You're just imagining slights, Alana. I don't want to hear about it,” he said, “So you didn't get an apprenticeship. Big deal. A lot of people don't get those.”

“I'm at the top of the class---”

“I'm sure there's another reason. Maybe you've been late too many times,” he countered.

“I'm never late. It's been close but if they didn't have me working every free moment in the kitchen, that wouldn't be a problem,” she said.

“Well, maybe they just don't like you. I don't know. I still don't care,” he said, “If you hate your assigned chores that much, go home.”

“That's a poor excuse,” she said.

“So what if it is. They're masters for a reason. They get to decide who advances, not you. Better learn to live with it and be grateful.”

She tried not to let it show how much that stung. She didn't know why they were friends if that's the way he felt about her. Her stomach felt like it had been filled with bees. It hurt.

If the wizards weren't going to take her seriously and let her advance, she'd find someone else who would. Maybe someday she'd show them just how wrong they were to dismiss her.

Someday soon.