With every tug and shove of the scrubbing brush across the mosaic floor, Tahanna cursed softly under her breath. She'd been all afternoon preparing Vashkiri's audience chamber for the petitions which the old sorceress received on the first day of every month. Her knees ached, her back ached, her hands were chapped and raw. She could have gotten the job done in half the time with a simple spell, but Vashkiri had forbidden it.
She was tired of cleaning--there was still the great carved chair to polish--tired of wearing apprentice's drab and, most of all, tired of studying magic every minute she wasn't cleaning this or carrying that--and then never being allowed to use a scrap of it.
Tahanna sat back on her heels and pushed a wisp of sweat-dampened hair back from her forehead. She longed to sit in the great chair and try out a spell, any spell, just to hear how it sounded in her own voice. There would be no harm done, and she'd revoke it right away. But no, she repeated to herself for the thousandth time that morning, Vashkiri had forbidden it.
Fire and Darkness! It was so unfair.
Savagely, Tahanna attacked the rich dark wood of the chair with citron oil. Then she paused, the polishing cloth hanging limp in her fingers. A seductive thought snaked through her mind. What was she studying all this magic for, if not to use it? How would she know she was good enough if she never got to try? Would there ever be a better time than now?
Clinging to her new determination, Tahanna strode off towards Vashkiri's private tower. She raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Her heart pounded as she reached the top. Her mouth went dry, but she kept on going.
Vashkiri the sorceress stood just outside her door, leaning on her ebony cane and looking for all the world as if she'd been waiting for Tahanna's arrival. Her robe of gold-stitched silk brushed the floor. Her black eyes snapped as they fixed on Tahanna's.
"Vashkiri--magistera--" Tahanna panted. A spasm of doubt curled around her tongue. She'd forgotten the faint smell of burning copper that always clung to the sorceress, forgotten how small and frail and terrifying she was.
Tahanna took a deep breath and silently recited a charm for fortitude. Her tongue unfroze. "The time has come for me to begin exercising the art you've taught me." Her voice rang out in the hallway, more powerful and resonant than she'd ever heard it. "I've worked hard for you for all these years. I've memorized every spell you've taught me. I know all the precautions and counter-indications, all the possible cancellations, nullifications and synergies. But you--you never let me try out the tiniest bit of it! Well, that's got to change. You've prepared me to work the true magic--now let me do it!"
For a long moment, Vashkiri did not move. Her face, as usual, looked frozen into a permanent expression of disapproval.
Tahanna's stomach tightened in dread. She'd gone too far, she knew it. Vashkiri would surely kick her out now, if she didn't turn her into a gerbil first. But whatever happened, she'd been right to stand up for herself.
"You think you're ready to work the true magic, my girl?"
Tahanna raised her chin defiantly. "Yes. I am ready."
The pleated leather of Vashkiri's face folded into a smile. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps it is time."
)
"Be careful what you wish for--you might get it!" In this hilarious retelling of the classic tale, a young sorceress comes of age through one mishap after another.
