Shamera walked slowly through Buttercup Meadow. His deep red and royal blue summer cloak trailed ankle length, soaking up the early morning dew as it brushed past the grasses and small plants which flourished here. He stood looking towards the eastern sky as the first rays of the summer sun broke the gleaming horizon.
With both hands, he slowly dragged back his hood, his long black hair flowed down past his shoulders. He flicked it backwards from his face as he ran his hands through it. He watched as the sun rose steadily upwards. His kingfisher blue eyes sparkled in the early morning light. His skin had a sun-kissed glow, similar in colour to toasted almonds.
This was Shamera’s favourite time of day. He loved watching the rising sun enliven the morning with its golden glow. He took a long deep breath of the fresh morning air, sweetly scented by the fragrance of the newly opening flowers. As he watched the sun rising upwards with majestic splendour, he clasped his hands together, paused for a moment and whispered to himself, “Is today the day?”
Shamera had wanted to become a sorcerer ever since he could remember, and he spent the last five years learning all about the medicinal plants and herbs which grew locally. He also learned how to make the lotions and potions created by Mirabilis the apothecary, by helping her in the shop during his free time.
Shamera was one of only six hopeful candidates from the region of Sloendor who were eligible to be tested to become the sorcerer’s next apprentice. It would not be a straightforward task, yet, as he watched the sunrise; he felt a quiet confidence growing inside him. The sun was a large orange disc balancing on the horizon; its golden light illuminating the valley. Shamera looked around him as the new day dawned, drew another long breath of the sweet morning air before making his way home for breakfast. The village was quiet, but it was Saturday, it was also a festival day, and soon the entire village would be alive with the hustle and bustle of people arriving from all over the region.
By the time Shamera arrived home, he could see smoke spiralling upwards out of the chimney and, as he reached the front gate, he could smell the unmistakable aroma of bacon cooking on the open fire. As he entered the house, he closed his eyes and filled his lungs with the tasty aromas; this made his mouth water as he was ready for something to eat.
“Is that you Shamera?” shouted his mother. “I have made you an extra-large breakfast this morning. You will need all the strength you can muster for the Choosing.” She said. And with a prideful smile. She rounded up the rest of the family so they could all sit together around the table.
His father, a portly gentleman, peered at him over the rounded rims of his glasses and, with a deep yet reassuring voice, said. “It’s a fine day Shamera, all you can do is your best, as, I am sure you will.” He blew across his teacup and took a sip of his favourite hot nettle tea. “I am sure you will make us all proud.” He continued, and with a smile and a slight nod of his head, he took another sip.
Gwen, his little sister of eight years, waved a small wooden spoon, pretending it was a magic wand.
“You can magic up a unicorn for me to ride upon.” she said excitedly. Shamera glanced at her and smiled.
“I am not a sorcerer yet, and I am sure there will be a lot of training and learning to do first… and besides, I might not get chosen, they have chosen only one in the past sixty years, and he didn’t last long. He apparently blew himself up, making a concoction called black powder?” He said, as a look of doubt appeared on his face.
“Be positive dear, no one deserves it more than you.” His mother said reassuringly.
“You’re justifiably biased mother.”
“Even if I am biased, you would still make a great apprentice.” she proudly remarked.
“Ah well, suppose I will have to make do with my rabbit, oh great sorcerer Shamera.” Gwen teased as she gave her stuffed toy a hug.
Shamera looked at her and smiled. “I suppose you will, little sister. I suppose you will.” he said softly.
The conversation fell silent as everyone tucked into their breakfast of bacon, eggs, and freshly baked bread. Shamera lifted his head and looked at his mother, raised his eyebrows, blew his cheeks out nervously, stood up from the table and said “Okay, I will see you all at the Choosing. I need to help Mirabilis at the apothecary beforehand, she will be expecting me.”
Shamera set off through the cobbled streets and the rows of single storey stone houses of the village. The apothecary was near to the market square, which was now getting busy with the hurly-burly of market life, and the stallholders making ready for the festival. All kinds of aromas filled the air, with the smells of freshly baked bread, flowers, hogs being gently roasted, and wood smoke. Shamera was nervously aware of people staring and discussing among themselves whether he would be the next apprentice, and become the pride of Elms Hollow. “Good luck at the Choosing Shamera.” someone shouted from a crowd. “Thank you, I think I’m going to need it.” he shouted back with a smile and continued on his way. “Make the village proud.” Shouted another. Shamera smiled nervously and waved politely.
As he reached the apothecary’s shop, he could see Mirabilis through the large front window. She appeared to be talking to a hooded figure. As Shamera opened the door, the shop bell rang out, announcing his entrance. He stood inside the doorway and was about to say good morning when a hooded figure hurried away out of the back door without looking back. Mirabilis turned and stood staring at Shamera, her wrinkled and weathered face even more deeply creased with a look of concern.
“Who was that? He seemed to be in a hurry.”
“Erm… no one, no one.” Stuttered Mirabilis. “I have to go out for a short while; you can mind the shop, can’t you? I won’t be long.” Mirabilis quickly grabbed her bottle green summer cloak off the peg and hurried out of the door.
Shamera looked out of the window. He felt a little bewildered as he watched Mirabilis scurry down the main street. Her cloak flowing and fluttering behind her; she was also glancing nervously around as she hurried down the street. She was soon out of sight. Shamera turned from the window and thought to himself, this was odd behaviour; he had never seen Mirabilis acting so troubled.
“Whatever could the matter be which has her acting so strangely?” he muttered to himself. He hoped whatever the problem was, it would be sorted out swiftly and Mirabilis would return quickly, as he needed to get himself organised for the Choosing ceremony. He was also hoping to ask if Mirabilis had any last-minute advice which may give him an advantage over the other candidates.
Shamera wanted to keep his mind busy, so he pottered around dusting and rearranging large jars and bottles which were being displayed on shelves around the shop. Blue, green, purple and red, translucent bottles displaying a variety of coloured plants and strange objects steeping in the liquor. Plain bottles, fancy bottles with fancy glass stoppers, all adorned the shelves and cabinets. Clumps of dried herbs and plants hung down from the rafters, wicker baskets filled with a mixture of dried berries, aromatic leaves and dried fruits filled the shop with a heady, sweet aroma. In between dusting and rearranging some displays, he served the odd customer who came in to buy a healing potion of some description and wished him good luck at the Choosing.
He looked around the shop and thought it was looking a lot tidier, and the aroma of the scented oils and plant extracts appeared to be even more inviting. Shamera kept looking at the large ornamental timepiece hanging on the wall; he watched the slender, ornate hands as they leisurely turned about its face. Barely thirty minutes had passed, but it seemed like hours. He thought to himself how quiet the shop seemed for a festival day, with barely a handful of customers entering the shop. Time appeared to be passing by agonisingly slowly.
