The Apprentice

Inside the windowless laboratory, fumes from bubbling cauldrons mingled with the smoke of a hundred low burning candles, forever lost to the rafters of the ancient school.  Strewn across the many oaken tables are the remnants of failed potions, hastily scrawled notes, and sheets upon sheets of parchment containing a lifetimes worth of knowledge in alchemy.  For the past ten days, Hob had slaved over the creation he was to present to his master this very night.  “A poison this world has not yet seen and its antidote.”  These were the only words of instruction given to him by Master Thorn. 
         In the four years, since Master Thorn accepted him he had endured many tests both mental and physical but this was the first of its kind.  The physical beatings were easy enough to take.  Before coming to the school, Hob’s father had beaten him more often and more severely.  Here a late chore or a late answer to a question would only warrant a strike or two from one of the masters many canes.  It was the mental tests that Hob begun to hate.  Not the endless studies, these had always been easy for him.  It was the never-ending give and take of the master’s approval.  Hob could commit to memory a lesson with ease and the master would curse Hob a fool not worthy of his teaching.  Other times when Hob faltered the master would show patience and go over the lesson a second time. 
         This time would be different Hob vowed.  If he were to create a potion that was new even to the master, surely he would gain the old man’s approval.  Should the potion prove strong enough he imagined himself granted the title of alchemist’s apprentice, trading in his student’s rags for the robes of a practicing alchemist.  These thoughts swirled in his head as he finished the last of his calculations and added the last of the ingredients.  Five hours later, two hours after his potions had been completed, a page of the master came to collect his work.  For what seemed like an eternity, Hob waited in silence.  His only company being his ever-increasing heartbeat and the smoldering remains of cauldron fires, he began to second-guess himself.  The four years Hob has been at the school, he had never been as anxious as he was at that moment.
         The same page, returning to summon Hob to the master’s banquet hall interrupted his solitude.  He instructed Hob to bathe and change into robes that he would find in his room.  This was something that the young student had never experienced before.  Never had he been summoned anywhere in the masters section of the school.  Now he found himself changing into new robes and waiting to be led to the master’s banquet hall. 
The scent of spiced meats and freshly baked breads met him as he walked the corridor to the banquet hall.  Entering the great hall Hob could only imagine that Master Thorn had seen his potion and had summoned him here to congratulate him.  Master Thorn sat at the end of a long dark mahogany table.  The wooden table matched the floors and the walls, and all seemed to blend as one piece.  A rare smile parted the lips of Master Thorn as he beckoned Hob to sit next to him.  This smile melted what apprehension Hob had left in him as he took the seat closest to the master.  “Eat my son.  You deserve it.”  Never had Hob heard such kindness from the ancient alchemist.  Roast lamb, smoked rabbit and rye bread filled Hob’s stomach as he and the master discussed past lessons and the nature of the boy’s potion. 
After eating more than he had ever dreamed possible Hob smiled and that smile turned into a laugh.  Hob found he was positively giddy with happiness over what he had accomplished.  Looking at the master however, he found not shared joy but the cold stone face that he had become accustomed to over the past four years.  This worried Hob but he could not bring himself to stop laughing.  Harder and harder, the laughter came until Hob found it hard to breath.  It felt as though someone were squeezing the breath out of him.  As his vision began to close in on him, he saw the old master slowly shaking his head and examining the contents of two, half-empty vials.  The vials Hob realized were the ones he had filled only hours before.  This was the last realization Hob ever had as he slipped into unconsciousness, never to awake. 
Master Thorn shook his head as he watched his student slip from the world.  He stared at the two vials he had poured into the boys drink while they had talked.  An alchemist, he thought to himself should be less concerned with the approval of an old man and more focused on his craft.