It was when I was 6 that I came upon a wolf in a trap. The poor beast had nearly gnawed its paw off to escape, but quickly turned its attention to my father and myself. Its bloody muzzle lunged for us, but could not reach us because of the trap; my father clubbed it repeatedly (so as not to damage the pelt). The first blow broke its back, and it fell with a yelp. It took four more hits to send it to peace, the whole while filled with painful, mournful yelps. When he was done, I was curious as to why my father left the body to patrol the nearby bushes. To my horror, he had gleaned from the wolf's swollen teats that she had cubs. He found them in the bushes; I watched as he clubbed them, saying to me, "better now when it's easier, than later when they can fight back." We took the adult's carcass to the village, but the pups were too small to be of use, so he left the bodies for scavengers. I sneaked back later that night to bury them. I knew then that I would not be a trapper, and the wedge between my father and I was driven in.

It was also around this time I discovered two of my greatest fears: heights and water. I had fallen from several trees, but it was the boyish prank my brother played of throwing me off of a 20-foot cliff which provided me this acute sense of acrophobia. My left arm was broken and took a long time to heal. Arrik never said he was sorry; instead, he resented the additional chores he had to do.

The other fear is a little more firmly founded. While crossing a stream, I had my foot pulled from under me. It felt like a hand, but there was nothing there; just water, pulling down, drowning me. I floundered, I splashed, I tried to yell. I kicked at my ankle, but there was no resistance; whatever held me was not letting go and I could not get to it as it shook me beneath the surface. As the tunnel vision closed in, I could see through the surface of the water a mannish figure jumping into the current with something glowing red in his right hand. Darkness followed. I was 10. I awoke uninjured on the banks of the river and though I would not go near, I saw footprints on the far bank, interspersed with the marks of a walking stick.

As we grew, we grew apart; Arrik and I agreed on only one thing: Lenore. Her hair was a common mousy brown and her eyes the deep rich color of a doe's. I can still hear the laugh, see the smile that made my heart rage for release from my chest. I still cry.

Arrik tried very hard to win her affections, but the finest pelts, the best meats did not interest her. She thought differently, more along my paths, and we tought ourselves to read with old battered books bartered for on odd excursions to market. She enjoyed craft and song, and I carved and wrote. I created, she adored; she comforted me in my darkest moments, and I formed my deepest bonds.

In an effort to produce the most grandiose statuette ever, I quested in the dark wood for special materials and new flowers. The rarest of all was when I found the raven. Broken winged, it did not balk at my approach, as if it new humans. It did not protest as I carried it back to the village, nor as I bandaged the wing. My father declared the bird an ill omen, but I built it a separate hut and slept near the bird, so Arrik would not kill it with his sling, as he had threatened. It was almost when the bird was healed that the stranger appeared.

I noticed before all else that he walked with a stick. His brow was heavy with too much care for a man of his years, but the lines of his face said that time had worn him badly, and that his true age was not to be measured in years. He inquired on his raven, and I provided him with the newly-recouped avian. In appreciation, he said, he would take me on as his servant in his cottage. I would be paid two silver per month for my assistance. I consulted with my father, who agreed that one silver would make up for the additional chores and duties I would not be able to do around our house; the additional, I figured, would save well toward a chain of silver for Lenore, the symbol of betrothed in my village.

On my first day, I was given my tasks and set about the cottage, which was rather large (as large as the inn I had once seen in the city). Endless cleaning and dusting and sanding, but mixed with rewards. I could read any of his numerous books I wished, and I had better food than at home (occasionally I took Lenore an especially appealing apple). Over time, I was included on a secret: Ingrim was actually a mage! A figure of legend! I couldn't wait to tell everyone, but he told me not to, that others wouldn't understand. So I told only Lenore. And she encouraged me.

I became Ingrim's apprentice, and for every hard lesson there was an equally difficult chore. Soon, though, I found the "unofficial" lessons: books left open to pages listing minor spells to aid me in the chores. Sometimes I failed, like the time I melted all the pots and pans instead of cleaning them, but more often I succeeded, making brooms dance across the floor. The powerful spells were chosen by me to learn, but chosen under his guidance. The spells were defensive and utilitarian in nature. Occasionally, I would catch a glimpse of some other spell, but I was herded away from them. Slowly my power grew, and my confidence gained.

While I made my apprenticeship, Arrik persisted in harassing Lenore. She plainly stated, in public and private, that she had no interest, but Arrik was always slow on the uptake and merely thought she was being coy. And so, in his mind, the rivalry was still on and Lenore actually cared deeply for him. Not even the chain I gave her would dissuade him. And this is where my tale becomes tragic.

I practiced in the woods sometimes, performing shows of colored light to fascinate and entertain Lenore. It was on such a night that my father came looking for me to tell me of my mother falling ill. He found me in the woods, lofting glowing balls through shimmering hoops and berated me, calling me "Devilspawn" and ecrying my evil. I calmed him slightly, but his only words were to abandon this before my soul was lost. And the worst blow was when Lenore was proclaimed a witch, or at least accomplice to my corruption.

Struck in horror, Lenore ran off into the woods. I started to give chase, but my father grabbed my arm and said to let her go, that she was finally "escaping my evil influence". I cast a spell of power for the first time unsupervised, and left him standing unable to move as I gave chase to Lenore.

Her flight had run her through a good deal of woods, and I thought I was gaining when I at once heard a scream from the east. I bolted, determined to save her. Three greyish-green man-type figures with long yellow teeth had grabbed her and were tearing at her. Lenore's eyes met mine, and she called my name; she called for me to help even as she was being carried off by the creatures, one of which was now drawing a cruel scimitar. I began to run, but was concentrating so much on her that I did not see where I stepped.

My foot slid on loose leaves, and I tumbled down an embankment to land in a river - not a stream, a river. Strong currents pulled at me as I floundered wildly, shocked in terror and confusion, but knowing I must reach the other side, that I must help Lenore. The current swept me under, and my head forgot reason. It felt like it was tugging at my ankle, and I froze. By pure luck, my right hand felt the floor of the bed, and I clawed at it for purchase, eventually dragging my body to the bank. I lay in the mud and heard a sharp scream. Lenore moaned my name lightly, and the night was still for a moment.

Arrik and my father crashed through the bushes, slid down the banks, and charged through the river, swimming furiously when the water became too deep. They emerged, still in a run, as even more of the villagers gathered on the far banks. I shrank back from the hard glare of Arrik as he rushed to the top of the bank clutching an axe, my father close behind. I could not move. I knew what had happened, and I should have stopped it...but I couldn't.

I heard growls and chops and the ringing of metal as it sang a sickening song of death. Then it was silent again, except for a soft crying. Arrik plunged over the side of the bank, grabbing me by the collar. "Why? " he howled. "How could you let this happen? This is your fault! She did not deserve this, and you killed her, laying here in the mud! YOU KILLED HER!!!!" He slammed my head repeatedly into the ground as he yelled it, and my ears rang and stars danced before my eyes. But all I could see or hear was the look she had given me, her last moaning of my name...

At some point, I must have lingered over one of the forbidden pages too long. I must have memorized without knowing, learned without being taught. All I remember is that in my frustration and rage and shame, I attempted to push Arrik off of me. I did not mean to cast. I did not mean for the bolt to leave my hand. My own skin was singed and burned, as my brother collapsed helplessly to the side, his chest still melting under the power of the acid arrow shot inside him.

No one spoke. No one could move. I looked up to my father and saw for the first time in my life a tear running down his cheek. I did not know what to do. I ran. To Ingrim's cottage.

He calmed me with a potion, and I related my story. He frowned, then hastily began packing a bag. "What are you doing, master? I would not survive if you left me now...not that I really want to anymore..."
"The bag is for you, boy," he said, thrusting it at me. "You would not survive here now regardless of who was here. They will come, boy, and you had best be gone."

I still had tears in my eyes as he loaded a pouch with coin and stuffed it into my belt. A few more loaves of bread stuffed into my pack, some cheese, a book. Our eyes met, and I suddenly realized that for four years, this man had really been my father. From boy to man of 17, villager to apprentice wizard, he was truly my father. And then we heard the noise.

Up the narrow path came a stream of torches, led by my father. "Bastard Devils!" he called. "We have come for you. My wife is dead of a broken heart at the loss of her sons: one to evil and the other to the power of the evil. Prepare to be cleansed in flame!!"

Ingrim pushed me to the rear of the cabin, forcing me up onto the table and out the rear window. "Go now, and do in the world what you know is right." As he spoke these words, I heard the breaking of glass, heard the thud of an axe on the door, saw the flicker of a thrown torch as it hurtled through a broken pane. I could not bring myself to look back. And I still pain at the memory.