By Sarah Orr Aten

Part 1:

Beagus hung his face over the cup before him, willing the smoke from the candle down, down, down into its contents. It dancedon the surface of the brown water in the cup before gliding backup, escaping the vessel. Beagus silently cursed for what felt like the hundredth time. He tried again, this time concentrating on the flame. Yes, good, this is good, he thought as he watched the way the flame dipped into the cup. The smoke began filling the vessel, and he doubled his concentration, speaking to the smoke now. Beagus smiled as it responded to his command be heavyand his plea show me what I seek. When the smoke washovering over the water within the cup, he blew out the flame on the taper and placed it beside him on the table. Then he lifted the cup to his face with two hands and peered into it, watching how the smoke formed shapes and pictures on the surface of the water, staining the surface of the liquid dark as ink. He smiled as he saw a girl dancing, before she was whisked away by friends.They covered her in a veil, presented her as a bride. A slow chuckle burbled from inside him as he imagined it. He, a novice sorcerer, and her, a girl who kept the geese. 

The door of the house creaked open before it banged against the wall. He was so startled that his jump of surprise caused the water in the cup to splash up into his face. He could taste the dirt and the smoke in it as it ran over his lips. He blinked the water from his eyes before looking towards the door., Hargin, who was a real sorcerer and his teacher, was hauling in a load of firewood, badly wrapped in a blanket, which he drug across the house. He grunted from the effort as he moved towards the fireplace. He spilled the load all over the floor before he got to the place where a few logs were already neatly stacked. Hargin muttered as he picked up what was left of the load in the blanket, huffing and puffing as he placed them into the stack next to the hearth. Then, finally, he turned and looked right at Beagus, sitting at the table with smoke and water and shock still covering his face.

“What did you see?” Hargin stomped towards the door and closed. The man was huge; Beagus wondered why he hadn’t built a bigger house.

“The goose girl is getting married,” Beagus said.

“To who?” Hargin asked, shutting the door with more force thanwas probably necessary. 

“Oh…” Beagus said. He hadn’t thought it could be anyone other than him.

Hargin put his hands on his hips, and Beagus thought thesorcerer couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or frown.

“Next time don’t use dirty water,” Hargin said. “You can’t see as well if it’s full of dirt.”

Beagus wondered why he hadn’t thought of that. 

“Stack that wood up, and then I’ll show you how to do it,” Hargin said, pointing to the pieces that were still scattered from the door to the hearth. “Again.” The last word was a growl.

“I am getting better,” Beagus said, scurrying to where the logs had spilled across the floor of the cabin. “It took me much less time today to get the smoke to dance on the water.”

Hargin grunted in reply, pouring more water from the jug on the counter. Taking the taper in one hand, and snapped his fingers with the other. A flame sputtered into existence on the wick. Heconcentrated. The wick sputtered and crackled. Beagus watched Hargin fill the cup with smoke with one try, then peer into it. A laugh escaped him, then he straightened, and stared at his pupil.

Beagus hadn’t managed to stack one log on the pile as Hargin worked.

“You weren’t supposed to be looking for the goose girl. You were supposed to be looking for the princess,” Hargin said.

“I know,” Beagus said. “It’s just that…when I think of marriages, I can’t help myself…”

“What do you know about the goose girl?” Hargin said, interrupting as if he’d never had a young and tender infatuation.

Beagus felt his face flame. “Oh, well, not much…”

Hargin laughed again. “Go and talk to her,” he said.

Beagus beamed. “Do you mean, the wedding I saw…?”

“Ah! None of that!” Hargin said. “I see what I see, and you see what you see. Remember?”

“Oh,” said Beagus, placing one log on the stack. “Yes, I remember.” He hated that rule. He wanted Hargin to tell him what he saw in the smoke so that he knew if he was doing it right. The sorcerer assured him that this would not work the way he wanted it to.

Hargin drank the rest of the water in the jug in a single gulp. “Need more water,” he said.

“I’ll go get it,” Beagus said, though he knew Hargin hadn’t meant for there to be question about who would do the chore.

As he hurried out of the house with the jug, he thought about the goose girl, Edith. She was pretty, as sweet as she was plump. Beagus adored her…from afar. He didn’t have language for how it made him feel to see her chasing the geese from their coop, to the pond, then back to the coop. They honked and pecked, irritated with her, but she always just smiled and talked to them like they were the best of friends. He watched her out of the window of the sorcerer’s hut as often as he could, which ended up being every single morning, and every single evening, much to Hargin’s frustration. 

When he reached the well, he fetched the water as quickly as he could. He planned to take the long way back to the hut, the path that went past the pond, just in case she was there with the geese. The jug was heavy, and Beagus knew he should have gone straight home. But the smoke had shown him a wedding,and it was the goose girl’s wedding, and he thought, maybe, just maybe…

Edith, the goose girl, was at the pond, watching the geese on the water, and throwing little pebbles that made ripples across the surface. In Beagus’ excitement, a strangled sound escaped him. She turned, smiled, and said, “Hello.” There was sunlight on her hair, and Beagus felt like a puddle in her presence. 

“Hhhhhhh….hi,” Beagus said, kicking himself for being so stupid, as if she too was a sorcerer and put a spell on him that took away his words.

She continued to smile, but the longer he stared, saying nothing, the tighter the smile became. “Eh…what’s your name?” she finally asked.

“Beagus!” he said. The jug was getting heavy. 

“The sorcerer’s apprentice?” she asked. She was honey personified. 

He snapped his mouth shut, realizing that he’d been standing there drooling like a fool. He nodded vigorously. “I have to get this water back to the sorcerer.”

“Oh,” she said, the smile falling even more. “Okay,” she said. Then she frowned. “Why did you come by the pond with it?” She looked curious, not wary.

“Just…eh, just wanted to see the…geeeeeese,” the words crawled out of him.

“Oh,” said Edith. “I’m Edith,” she offered, picking up another pebble.

“I know,” he said. Then he cursed himself. What if she thought he was a creep? 

Instead, this knowledge brought a smile back to her face. “I come here every day,” she said. “You can come visit with me? When you’re not fetching water?” Her words were light, expectant, filled with the light of hope.

“YES!” Beagus said. Too forcefully. “Yes, I can,” he said more calmly.

She laughed, like a bell. “Get back to your master then,” she said, shooing him away with a wave of her hand and a tinkling laugh.

Beagus nearly ran back to the house, propelled by his excitement.

Six authors. Six stories. One amazing workshop. 

When I received the invitation from Ted Wallenius aka shredbobted about joining a writing group; I was very nervous. I’m very young in my writing journey. My blog will be three years old in September. However, I’ve been writing for a long time privately. The daunting question was; what could I add to this group? More importantly, what can I learn from this group?

We had minimal instruction. Write. We wrote. 

We read each other’s stories. Gave feedback. Then rewrote. 

In the following months, you will read stories from each of us. It is our goal to publish these simultaneously on each other’s blogs. If you follow more than one of us, you will see these stories more than once. 

Here are the authors and stories in publications order:

1-Smoke On The Water – Sarah Orr Aten

2-An Oily Mess – Jolene Rice

3-Corrections – Jeremy Miller

4-Loss – Emily Amsel

5-Strapped For Love – Ted Wallenius

6-Trees Grow Around Wire – Stephen Bent

Stories will be broken down into parts. At the end of an authors story; you will get the chance to meet the author through a brief bio and interview questions. 

We hope you enjoy reading these.