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The Handsome Sorcerer
TW: Mentions of mild abuse, I suppose. Alcohol abuse. The Handsome SorcererThe Beginning
âAmaya? Where are you going, girl? We have work to do.â The gruff sound of her fatherâs voice carried through the air and Amaya turned to look at him, as the black dog at her heel paused his steps, sitting himself down on the grass.
âI was just taking Perrito for a quick walk, papa. Iâll be back before lunch.â
Her fatherâs dark eyes, bloodshot from his drinking the evening before, stared into hers for the briefest of seconds before he quickly pulled his gaze away, as though heâd been stung by a venomous creature. His hand moved to grab one of the thin poles holding up the canopy above him, giving it a little shake to make sure that she had fastened it securely. Anything to distract himself from the guilt he felt when he looked at his daughter.
He let out a grunt. âSee that you are.â
Without waiting for anything further from him, Amaya turned and half-walked, half-ran towards the nearby village, Perrito at her heel, but even as they left him behind, Amaya couldnât help but feel a pang of sorrow at the way her father had looked - or rather not looked - at her. She understood why, and if she hadnât, he made it pretty clear every evening when he opened his first bottle of gin and took the first few mouthfuls. The gin always hit him quickly, and he would slur harsh, cruel words at her. She reminded him of her mother, and the older she got, the more Amaya looked like Maria.
How much she looked like her mother, however, seemed to have a direct influence on how many of those bottles of gin her father would drink and now, in her eighteenth year, the same age her mother was when her father met her, he was drinking so much gin each night that his entire personality changed, and Amaya was left nursing the bruises that came as a result.
Her mother had been bright and outgoing, always willing to put her father in his place, not that heâd needed it as much then. Their love had been fierce and fiery. They would argue passionately, and make up just as passionately. They were from two different worlds - her father a travelling tradesman, and her mother the daughter of a nobleman, due to marry into royalty until she met a man wanting to show her the world.
Amaya had been their everything and both had doted on her. Her father taught her how to read people, how to bargain with them and sell almost anything to almost anyone, product or idea. Her mother taught her everything she had been taught as a noblewoman - how to read and write and ride a horse, how to sew and bake, how to retain poise and regality even under stress, and how to walk and talk like someone far above the station Amaya found herself in. Amaya had learned so well that she was often mistaken for someone far more noble than she was.
Then her mother passed away, following a long illness. Amaya hadnât left her side. Aged only 11, she had nursed her sick mother until the day her darling Mama left her. Her father had fallen apart the very same day, and Amayaâs happy, blissful life had fallen apart before her eyes in a matter of weeks.
Now, each night, Amaya made sure she did everything within her power not to trigger her fatherâs temper, but no matter what she did, he seemed to resent her very existence. Her similarity to Maria, down to her identical hazel eyes, pained him so much that he couldnât look at his daughter when sober, and couldnât stand seeing her when drunk, at least not until his temper flared and he decided to use his rage against her to make himself feel better.
As she approached the nearby village, Amaya took a moment to inhale the gentle scent of the orange blossom that carried on the wind, letting nostalgia fill her for the briefest of moments. This particular village, half a dayâs ride from Seville, was one of a dozen villages that Amaya had spent her life moving between, and it had been her motherâs favourite. The family had never settled in one place long but Amaya had always wished she could find a place to settle, and this village was the one that felt the most like home.
Her mother had thrived in the travelling life, even though it was very different from her upbringing. She was warm and friendly and had numerous friends in each of the villages. People always seemed pleased to see her. Maria had used her needlework and dressmaking skills to alter clothing she bought cheaply in one village, to sell in the next as high-end fashion. The women of these villages would find themselves so drawn in by Mariaâs breeding and class that they snapped up her dresses without hesitation and to her motherâs credit, the dresses were beautiful. But Amaya despised needlework and, while she could easily have taken over her motherâs little business, she let that part of their trade die the day Maria did.
The village was alive with so much sound that Amayaâs senses were immediately overwhelmed. For weeks, there had been nothing in her life but nature and the sound of her fatherâs voice, Perritoâs occasional barking and the sound of the squeaking wheels of the old caravan as the horses pulled it along the stone tracks, and now suddenly she was surrounded by noises and smells and voices shouting in anger and lifting in joy. Beside her, Perrito moved closer, his large paws padding in time to her steps.
The dogâs name was something of a little joke of Amayaâs. It meant âlittle dogâ, but Perrito was anything but. A large, shaggy mound of soft, black fu, with large black eyes, sharp teeth and huge paws. His head came up to Amayaâs waist and when he jumped up, he towered over her petite frame. Despite his rather fearsome appearance, however, the dog was timid and antisocial. He had no time for most people and he certainly had no love for Amayaâs father.
Amaya stopped to sit on a stone bench by the river, watching Perrito move to take a drink from the cool water. She closed her eyes, letting the rays of the sun warm her skin, letting herself relax for the first time in days.
âAmaya? Is that you?â A familiar voice hit the teenagerâs ear and before she could turn to face its owner, arms surrounded her, pulling her up from the bench and into a tight hug.
âGloria, hiâŠâ Amaya responded, almost awkwardly as the older woman finally let her go, feeling Gloriaâs eyes scanning her form.
âHm, youâre looking far too skinny. Come with me to the shop, Iâm going to have to feed you up a bit. Whatever would your mother sayâŠâ
Rolling her eyes fondly, Amaya followed Gloria towards the small bookshop she owned, knowing she didnât have much choice. If sheâd not come willingly, Gloria would certainly have dragged her there. She was one of her motherâs oldest friends, and when sheâd fallen sick, Gloria had promised her that she would watch out for Amaya whenever they were in the village. It was a promise she had taken seriously.
As they fell in step, Perrito trailing behind them, Gloria began to tell Amaya everything that sheâd missed in the few months since she had last been in the village, talking a lot so that Amaya didnât have to. Amaya chuckled softly as she learned the gossip of the village, the scandals and dramas that had taken place since they had left. One particular story seemed to fill Gloria with a different excitement, however.
âA sorcerer?â Amaya asked with a soft chuckle as Gloria told her the tale of the âhandsome strangerâ who had arrived in the village two weeks earlier, talking about magic and, seemingly, demonstrating it too.
âAnd a pretty good one at that.â Gloria nodded, unlocking the shop door âHe has a particular skill for wishes. Young Beatrice wished to have the best wedding the village had ever seen and he made it happen. Donât ask me how. Oh, but you should have been there. The cake was particularly divine!â Gloria seemed to lose herself in memory of the cake for a moment, allowing Amaya to step into the bookstore the other woman owned, after commanding Perrito to wait outside.
As she stepped inside, suddenly greeted by the hundreds of books that Gloria had obtained over the years and the incredible scent they gave off, Amaya felt an odd peace wash over her. She loved books. Sheâd read all day if she could, letting herself escape into fantasy worlds, or filling her head with whatever knowledge she could get her hands on. She wasnât sure what sheâd do without books and so, at each village, she picked up as many as she could afford or traded those sheâd already read. Over the years, sheâd probably transported hundreds of books between the different villages.
âHe granted old Andre his wish tooâ Gloriaâs voice broke Amayaâs trance as she moved past the teenager to the back of the shop where she began to prepare food and drink for them both.
âOh?â
âYes, he wished to leave his family with more than heâd been left. The next morning, he woke to the largest harvest his farm had ever had.â
âThatâs.. incredible. I wish Iâd had a chance to see his magic at workâ
âYou might yet. Heâs still in town.â Gloria placed a plate of sandwiches in front of Amaya, urging her to eat. Amaya picked up a sandwich and nibbled at the corner.
âHeâs promised to grant another wish soon. You should come and see it happen.â
âIâd like toâ Amaya said with a light shrug âWeâll see.â
Gloria frowned, sitting opposite her. âIs it your father?â
âNo, no.. heâd probably be thrilled with me disappearing for a few hours. I just..â
âYou were such a shy child.â Gloria interrupted her rambling. Amaya chuckled.
âIâm still a shy childâ
âOh, youâre not a child any more, my sweet. Youâre a beautiful young lady. Youâll be finding a nice man and settling down soon.â Gloria smiled.
Amaya laughed.
âYeah the problem is, Iâd have to talk to them to find out if they were nice or not and thatâs.. thatâs not really in my skill set.â She shrugged.
âBut what I wouldnât give to settleâ she thought to herself.
Once she had eaten enough sandwiches to convince Gloria that she was no longer on the brink of starvation, Amaya began to browse the shelves of books, looking for overlooked gems among the dust.
âYouâve got an abundance of books about shipbuildingâ she called out to Gloria, who muttered something about one of the villagers returning from their time at sea, but Amaya was no longer listening as her eyes had fallen on an old-looking book, bound in leather, with peeling gold writing upon the cover.
âCompeting Elemental Theoriesâ the letters embossed on the cover read, and she picked it up, carrying it towards the front of the shop. It seemed to be a magic book, and Amaya wasnât sure how it had found its way into Gloriaâs shop.
âWhere did this-â she paused hearing the sound of Perritoâs happy bark, a bark he only used to greet Amaya, from outside, followed by the tinkling of the bell above the shop door as it opened.
Amayaâs gaze fell upon Gloriaâs newest customer. He was tall, almost a foot taller than she was without her heels, with dark hair and beautiful ice-blue eyes. He walked into the shop with a gentle confidence that Amaya could only dream of possessing, and something was enchanting about him that she couldnât quite explain. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments and she felt as though a jolt of electricity ran through her very core, as though he was staring into her very soul and her soul longed to answer. He gave her a warm smile that made her stomach flutter, and she swore her heart had skipped a beat the minute that smile had brushed over his lips.
Amaya blushed.
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